It's getting close now...

Those were my 7-year-old son's first words on December 22nd. Being awakened by his enthusiasm towards the pending Christmas celebration was like being awakened by the first returning birds in early spring. I woke up with a smile.

Outside it was bitter cold, but the shock of getting hit with subzero temperatures was easily surpassed by the beauty of the sun shining on the crystalized snow. With strokes of pastels colors from sunrise still visible along the morning sky, I headed to the village church to enjoy the school's Christmas assembly. The snow crunched beneath my feet as my lungs were filled with crisp, clean air.

Inside the church I listened to the children's songs and sang merrily along to "Stilla Natt" and "Nu Tändas Tusen Juleljus". Throughout the entire procession I concentrated on enjoying each moment with warm detachment. For once I felt able to experience joy without the normal pangs of dreary bitterness upon the simultaneous realization that the Christmas festivities as well as that beautiful winter weather would soon be nothing more than a fleeting memory.

Instead I walked back home afterwards feeling utterly content, thinking to myself that two days before Christmas Eve may very well be my favorite day of the year: we're close enough to the actual holiday that you can feel it in every cell of your body, yet there's no need to start freaking out about all that needs to be done seeing as there's still two days to prepare...

So, yes, I was content, even happy. Played Christmas carols on Spotify while wrapping the kids' presents.

That afternoon I received a phone call from a colleague/friend. Our mutual colleague/friend, the one who's been battling cancer for six years, had once again been hospitalized. This time there was nothing more that could be done. He died the next day.

We all knew that we were eventually going to lose him; yet he had fooled us by tricking Death out of taking him prematurely so many times before...that it seemed unreal. We had had our last conversation just a few days prior, and I had ended it abruptly because I had a another call waiting. How idiotic is that?!

Still, I know he didn't mind - he wasn't the type who would. And what would the point have been of knowing that this was the last time we would speak to each other? Maybe, at least I hope anyway, that it was just as well that we both enjoyed that last phone call just as it was, without worrying about the inevitable future.

Status report

I can't freakin' believe it's been 4 weeks since my last entry.

To be honest, I already have an entry in progress ("What I Believe"), but I can't freakin' figure out what to write.

And my thumb hurts...

That said, I'm feeling absolutely pathetic. My half-severed thumb (OK, grandiose exaggeration) is what I went to sleep thinking about last night. It was my first thought this morning. I have spent every freakin', waking moment incessantly thinking about it today. And I guarantee it will be my final thought before sleep blesses me with merciful reprieve.

Because that's what pain does. It takes over and takes no prisoners as it kicks your a**. It penetrates your psyche as it clouds your mental abilities, making you feel as though you've been cursed with a voodoo doll (complete with accompanying needles).

Simultaneously I find myself feeling so incredibly frustrated. Last year, when I turned 40, I was still recovering from knee surgery and longing for my mat. Last week I turned 41, and I joyfully went to my first Zumba class. Afterwards I swore that from now on, I would get back into including more cardio to my workout schedule. I was both excited and eager to get started (once again) with my "new" life!

And now that's all on hold. All because of a piece of thumbnail no larger than half a dime.

I'm not so self-centered as to not understand that my "trauma" is about as serious as running out of milk. I know that my life is still as rich and rewarding regardless of potential dangers lurking in silverware drawers. Yoga isn't about the physical practice. I get the message that radio station P3 is relaying with their 6-day "Music Help" sit in to raise money in the battle against child trafficking, which puts my petty ails in perspective.

I think sometimes that practicing equanimity (steadiness of the mind) simply means going with the flow, with neither too much thought nor attention. And I realize that in a couple of weeks, I will (yet again) be able to pick up where I left off. That is, until I hit my next speed bump...