The single most important lesson

It was my big return to the woods this morning, 6 weeks and 1 day post surgery.  I am still waiting to hear back from my doc on what the advised exercise plan is, not to mention physical therapy, but honestly just couldn't stand the idleness and the squishiness of formerly muscular limbs for one second longer. Enough sitting on my ass!  

As I told Joe in the driveway as I was leaving and he returning from his Thursday morning team ride,

if there's still something wrong with my back 6 weeks after surgery, after six weeks of not doing shit, then seriously whatever problem I still have is something that sitting on the couch certainly isn't taking care of.  

With that, off I went, happily into the woods, for what my Runkeeper tells me was a 2.33 mile hike.  OK, so not so long, but long enough, and not so fast -- still recovering, and lots of puppy-training breaks in there -- but still, I'm BACK, yo.  

And man oh man, did that ever feel good.  And man oh man, just like always, just like in all my years of distance running (perhaps never to return) and hiking, off my mind went too, meandering along, freed by the rhythm of my feet on the trail, in the shadow of big trees.

If you're not doing what you love, then what the fuck ARE you doing?   

This was the refrain that kept bumping through my mind. I've had six weeks of doing just what I wanted -- well, OK, mostly what I wanted, since spending three days on our taxes was not exactly top of my list, evidenced by my long and lame procrastination of said-task.  Still, six blissful weeks of friends and garden and museums and puppy and books and oh -- the greatest thing of all -- the joy of making. Because yeah, the single most important lesson of my leave? 

I love to make things. I need to make things.

It's that simple.  The garden and the hives give me this gift, a way to create something, even if it's only managing the conditions, coaxing the fruit, harvesting the honey.  Sure, yes, I write, but that's air.  It's not something I can slice and put into a jar or bag -- like a fresh piece of comb dripping with spring honey, or some apricots, or peas from the garden.  I am truly happiest in that giving.

Funny: a year ago or so, after attending Wanderlust up at Squaw Valley, fighting through altitude-derived migraine and the pain that would turn out to be a herniated disc a few months later, despite all that, I emerged from that experience changed: suddenly realizing that I am fundamentally a creative person. What's that: an artist, you say?  Yep.  That shocked me.

And I just sat with that knowing for all this time, until breaking my own back showed me the next bit: that no matter what I end up doing with my job-time, no matter where, for whom, for how much, still I always, always must have this outlet, this way of making things, of giving things, and, who knows, even of selling things. There is so much deep, deep satisfaction in that for me, something I never knew before now.

As long as I can continue to do that thing I love -- that is, make stuff,

then all the rest is a-OK.

Just knowing that, I can go back to my j-o-b, continue doing numbers for money, words for love, with a new resolve.  And that, my friends, is the best of all, the best possible outcome of this six-week leave. Sure, I'd love to stay home forever and keep doing whatever I feel like all day, keep writing when it's daylight out instead of 4:30am, for example, but let's face it, I do still have to keep a job for the foreseeable future.  Now I feel like I can do it without the dread and the kicking and resistance.  All I have to ensure is that there's still time, still strength for the making, and the rest will take care of itself.

At least that's what I say now.  Check in with me in a week and let's see how I still feel. ;>

XX