Drinking Through a Straw: Part 2

I have just returned from a trip to the southwest, spending many hours driving across miles of stark barren landscapes.  Especially before spring brings new signs of life to these broad expanses, the grayness and monochromatic brown led me to observe there was not much going on out there.

We ended our trip in Las Vegas, a brighter and livelier environment to say the least.   On the surface lots of big things seem to be going on. While there we spent a day in Death Valley where the contradictions between living and dying became dramatically apparent.

Progressing from over 6000 feet above to 260 feet below sea level in a matter of minutes can play strange tricks with the inner ears -- and the inner eyes.   With the help of a skilled guide I began to see a panorama of life I had not expected, a sense of life and time that had eluded my recognition in the high desert and the Vegas strip.

As I began to see the subtle differences in rock strata, texture and color I appreciated the creative forces that had shaped the landscape I was now seeing clearly and deeply.  I saw where millions of small actions had multiplied to build and erode mountains, lakes, valleys, and flats.  I understood that it was the combined effect of these small movements over long expenses of time that were truly monumental, not the glitz and glamor of neon, concrete and five-inch heels.

I have started to notice the same phenomenon as I get accustomed to living with my ALS. It's the small and subtle changes that are becoming most important.

It's learning to hear my own voice sounding different.  It's realizing how eating more slowly and with more focus has changed my appreciation of food, the eating process and the patience of my dining partners.  It's taking smaller, more deliberate steps to stay on the path.  It's realizing how important it has become to adjust to the difficulty of so many little things that used to be so easy and second nature and have now become so much harder -- chewing, speaking, walking, swallowing, making phone calls, spontaneous jokes and bad puns, balancing on a bosu ball, eating peanut butter, drinking a milkshake through a straw, and kissing.

So for me the challenge has become learning to be sensitive to the little things that make so much difference.  I am learning to see these new failures as opportunities to try new things.  I am learning to keep them in perspective, to sweat the small stuff, but laugh while doing it. I am learning to admit my new vulnerabilities -- to others and myself, not deny them or try to fake it.

If I remain sensitive to these small and subtle changes I can be honest about my limitations -- with myself and others.  I can resist the temptation to become victim and punish myself for my illness. I can play my role in the unfolding adventure of my life and the lives of people around me with integrity, energy and focus.

More:

Drinking Through a Straw Part I