Adjusting II

If you asked me, I'd have told you that this week is much like the last one. It's gray and cold outside; inside, my sofa and its white fuzzy blanket have been calling, and I've been answering. I curl up, try to work on unraveling the knot inside, then fall asleep for a thirty minute nap.

But there are differences. The knot inside seems to be looser; much of the anger holding it in place seems to have dissipated. One afternoon, when I woke from my nap, I spent the better part of an hour just staring out the window. Not depressed this time, I was captivated by the beauty of the snow on the trees outside. The picture could have been in black and white, except for the bold red dot which was a cardinal going about his winter business.

This morning, when I woke, I actually got up and out of bed instead of avoiding the morning. I am getting tired of lying about, bored, even.

On this afternoon's walk in the dull gray light, I was mulling over the coping strategies which have helped me through the hard parts of these last years. As I got to the one that says "there is beauty in every day, if I but remember to look for it", a hawk with at least an eighteen inch wingspan flew overhead, landed in the top of one of the trees, and disappeared. I stopped when I drew closer to the tree, studying its upper branches. After some difficulty, I spotted the bird once again - it was intently watching the ground below for dinner. Again, some tightness inside eased just a bit.

I've found enough energy to cook some healthy meals, to take a walk almost every day, to do most of the things I wanted to get done, to lose myself in a book.

These signs that this mood, too, shall pass, give me hope. If I keep taking baby steps, I'll get to a place I like better, I'm pretty sure of that now. If I'm correctly reading my growing restlessness, I'm even ready to get out more; to socialize, to talk to people.

Winter's not over, not by a long shot, but the days are getting longer. Spring will come - the way the days and weeks have been rushing by, it'll be here (and gone, but I won't dwell on that part) before I know it. Hopefully, by the time it arrives, I'll have figured my way out of this funk. I mean, it's one thing to want to curl up on the sofa when I don't want to be outside anyways, it's an entirely different picture to be doing it when the grass is greening and the birds are singing and it's time to play in the dirt.

Baby steps.  I'll get there.