Chairs at the beach in rain: Woods Pond, Bridgton ME

Chairs at the beach in rain: Woods Pond, Bridgton ME

Stumbling over gnarled roots I traipse back home after the rain.  So tired.  Not the content sort of tired that seeps into your blood after a day of lounging but an ugly sort of, perhaps I am getting sick, I can’t think straight sort of tired.  The fact that I am feeling it here in Maine, in a place of perfect peace is what convinces me that I am indeed suffering from something more than just regular fatigue.  That I am not imagining this physical tiredness struggling to be acknowledged.

I don’t like to talk of this fatigue much.  I don’t want to validate it, as though talking about it to anyone but my doctor or my father will somehow define me as the tired girl.  I don’t want it to define me—I am –I want to be– vivacious, active, full of spunk.   I want to live life to the fullest and to expand into every blessed moment.  Somehow dragging wet feet down the lakeside path doesn’t feel like LIVING to me.  The days when I just can’t lift my head, when all I want to do is crawl into bed,  they feel to me like an insult or perhaps a traitorous act—my body and my mind set against my heart and soul.

These days have passed so quickly.  Time moves fast when you move slow.  I am sad that I have not been able to savor each minute of this precious time, waking up long past sunrise, going to sleep while the bonfire still roars and my cousins’ laughter echoes across the lake.  Sneaking away from the communal dinner making because I can’t do one more thing.

But it has been precious nevertheless and that, I must remind myself, is the gift.  The lesson is to take what I can from each moment—even the imperfect ones, even the ones that seem blurry and dull and foggy with fatigue.  Living in the moment means accepting the moments when you are less than your ideal “living in the moment” self.  Now that’s something to get your mind around, huh?

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