One constant since my arrival in Innsbruck is at least once a day, somewhere in the city,
I see, pass or meet a nun.
So today as I began my first of many 4-hour days in German class, I wasn't the least bit
surprised to be seated next to, you guessed it, a nun.
Her name is Urlika and she's from Romania. Schwester Urlika ist von Romania.
She's the perfect antidote for my seemingly frustrated self these days.
Being sick in general is well, no fun. Being sick and in hospital in a foreign land, ups the ante quite a bit.
I've been less than, let's just say ecstatic lately as I go in and out of hospital to have unspeakable, yet necessary and as dignified as they can make it, "procedures" performed
to with, around and near, my colon.
My usual smile and sunny disposition has been replaced by a new kind of aggression and well, depression I have yet to feel in all of my travels.
The kind of anger I get while touring and dealing with bookers and agents, rental cars, online ticket buying, airlines, travelers and "customer service." I know this kind.
The kind of anger I get for getting grief carrying my guitar (in a soft bag!) on the plane (which weighs and takes up less space than most carry-on's & sometimes pay for a seat and still get trouble) is a 'kind of anger' I am more than familiar with.
The I've been alone, in too many hotel rooms, in too many foreign lands, singing far too much, for far too little money, for much too long 'kind of sadness', is one I don't wish on anybody but know.
But this kind. The... my life full-time in a foreign-speaking country, feeling as if I am starting from scratch...again (even more so than any other time) seeing and feeling the affects of aging (away from what I know is somehow disturbing) ...realizing I had to stop eventually.
The kind of sadness I get knowing I am ill an in and out of hospital and all my family & close friends are not here and really, not even an easy phone call away, is a 'kind of sadenss', I can't quite get used to.
Which from what I gather by the way Schwester Ulrika looks at me, is a good thing.
Getting used to a void and empty state of mind, can't be a good thing no matter how
you look at it.
You gotta' cry uncle eventually.
Then today, as I was setting up my new blog, I came across a travel writer who in fact
was touching on this very thing.
How did he put it, "Spiritual fasting; How to appreciate life through deprivation."
And I knew from the title, instantly, it was all meant to be... the class, the nun, his blog... even this still unknown illness currently the forefront of my life.
The premise being to experience, sometimes even seeking it or more to the point - forcing it upon yourself... the suffering - with the idea it will teach you to be strong and live through it... live without and remind you what you have and what you don't need.
I agree with this, I do. Really. In fact, deep down I have always known this in some way.
But when I look back on my teens and twenties, the later being the most trying in my life so far, I can't say I was aware of this "state of mind" while suffering.
Granted ... because of it, I have gathered the wisdom, experience and keen eyes needed
to function normally (mostly) and carry on through life, a pretty happy little survivor.
There will always be someone with far greater woes...bigger problems and fish that will never actually get fried, never mind the term.
I do not pretend my life was or is some big tragic tale.
Of course, I come with my share of stories, tribulations, let downs and bags so heavy they wouldn't put them under or on any plane... but then part of the beauty of all the muck I dragged, slashed and dug my way through, is the very fact I did not know that at the end of it all, I would come out mostly unscathed and a wiser, more interesting person.
Really, I had no idea what was happening most of the time.
They say you have a selective memory when it comes to pain and or painful memories.
I agree with this too.
In fact, I think I kicked and screamed a good majority of the time. Literally peeling and prying my fingers and hands, dragging my feet, dangling my arms and forcing my body to go along for the rides I managed to take it on throughout my life.
A lot... most of the time, having absolutely no idea how much I needed to suffer nor now much pain I was actually experiencing.
A lot of the time, my instinct was to plant my feet on the ground and cry uncle. Swear I wouldn't make one more move, take one more step, until I was sure it...I .. was safe.
But as it always happened and still seems for the most part, the universe had and has
bigger plans... some better than others and admittingly, not always what I wanted, want
saw or see coming.
I went with it, them... believing that if followed my path, the wind, the road... however you see that, that one day, it would get me to where I was going.
Perhaps a little more rough but a shiny stone from all that tumbling.
I am clear that it's not the end so much as the journey getting there. I know this.
We all know this.
But it doesn't stop us from carrying on searching for that one thing, that one person,
that one place or all those things and people and places, that will tell us everything is
A-okay, we are heading in the right direction... that life is good and suffering is ok. We will forget the pain.
It does take however, as life does, a new deprivation. A new struggle or pain... to realize that all those years of clawing, kicking and screaming and still despite it all, carrying on... wasn't for the things or the people or the places...but for the people it made us. Made me.
This I know. This is something not new to me.
But today, as I sat next to Schwester Ulrika and the very act of looking into her eyes, just
about sent me on a crying binge for a better part of the day, reminded me what a big, fat
baby I am, was being.
For me, right now, being sick well..for lack of a better term, sucks. Being sick in a foreign-speaking, foreign land, sucks even more. And for lack of intelligent articulation, well, this whole adjustment and new life is somehow a repeat of my twenties and sorry..
but it sucks too.
Let's be honest, life is damn hard no matter how you look at it.
Only this time, I am armed with the years I have lived and the roads I have strolled and sometimes, ran like hell on.
I have earned that and this tread and along with it, the physical and not physical, scars I have collected along the way.
My scars, both internally and on this now older, heavier and sometimes tired body, are my souvenirs.
Souvenirs that despite the mess I was sometimes forced to travel in, I am a survivor and at last, a better, more interesting person for my troubles.
Happier? Mostly, usually...sometimes.
Who is it that said, "This too shall pass?"
And do I need to remind myself...apparently so, that maybe I don't need for it to pass
so much as let it be. John Lennon knew what he was talking about.
Perhaps now is the perfect time to take full advantage of this new opportunity.
This new chance to once again go kicking and screaming, clawing and cursing, all the way to the end... wherever that is.
Only this time, my eyes are wide open and I can see exactly where I am going.
