the fall

The weather’s beginning to change. It’s a subtle change, but even still, late last night (or was it early this morning?), I reached over and felt the cool breeze that begins to welcome fall. I closed my window, stared up at the night sky, and welcomed the fall.

I’m staying with the Salvatori family in a house nestled right at the mouth of a beautiful canyon. Annika’s back in town. “How did I manage to spend my summer in between Santa Barbara and Utah?!” she exclaims every once in a while. We’re both a little shocked at the strange events that have taken us down a very different road this summer than we planned. To aid in my recovery this week, we’ve made a goal of hiking up the canyon each day, going further and further every time we hike.

I woke up feeling very sad this morning. It happens sometimes. Some mornings I feel wonderful, others I wake up almost in shock. It takes a few moments for me to register where I am, what’s going on, the fact that I have a tube extending out of my chest. This morning in particular, I’m wondering how to keep myself motivated throughout the year. It seems daunting.

One thing I hate about this blog is the constant struggle I feel to share, but not burden. I’m scared of mentioning just how pissed off I get sometimes. A good friend shared some advice with me yesterday. “Allow yourself to get pissed, despair, and curse the fates.” The most difficult part of this isn’t the physical pain or discomfort, surprisingly. It’s waking up every day with limited energy and strength, unable to do work, to be a contributing part of the world, to move forward in the way I want to. As beautiful as the homes are that I’ve been recovering in, the fact still remains that they become my universe, my world; most of the time I’m not well enough to leave. If I do, there’s a constant fear of infection and catching anything from anyone or anything. I hate it. It makes me so angry, to feel left behind.

So I hiked further, I climbed higher. I keep stretching for the top of the mountain. These last few days I’ve had my old strength back. I’ve relished in it. You can’t fully understand what it is to feel this until you’ve had it taken from you. As I hike, I can see fall beginning to take over. It’s subtle (we’re still in August after all) but it’s coming. The inevitable. Pretty soon it will be too cold to hike. Winters in Utah are generous; they have a habit of always lasting a little longer than you wish they would. Even as I bask in the beauty of the mountains, I become more aware of how temporary this season is, every season is.

I’m listening to a song. The lyrics woke me up this morning. “When your love grows cold and your heart grows dark and the blame seems to fall on you, look how seasons must change and don’t think it’s so strange that your love goes in circles too.”

But this morning, I’m still pissed off.