This morning when I was out walking the dogs (ugh!) (three of them!) (I thought I learned the lesson about not having three dogs at the same time before, yo!), I caught my wrist up in a tangle of leashes and said to myself, "Watch out for the wrist bone. It could break."
I have broken my wrist before, so there's that. But the interesting thing this morning was realizing that I was almost viewing my bones as something apart from me, something to watch out for like a toddler you're babysitting. Separate entities entirely. There's me. And then there are my bones.
I don't think I'm expressing myself very well here.
I guess what I'm trying to say is that when I was younger I wouldn't have made such a distinction. My bones were me. There was congruence. I was strong and healthy and game, and so were my bones. But now? Hey, I'm still strong and healthy and game. It's just that my bones (and also my knees) haven't kept up.
I believe this is what they call aging.
5 comments:
So nice to have a new Ann Cannon post!
I can so relate. And it's not just bones, it's stomach, skin, etc. And I've missed your posts, too!
Good to read your blog. My bones talk to me all the time. I may not fully understand the creaking, cracking, snapping, aching language they use, but I know what they are telling me. And yes, I think they are telling me I am old. Keep blogging.
It could be one part aging, one part experience? Maybe with age we see our bones et al. as tools for moving us through life, while the inner self (the part of us that is wiser, but still feels 25) is the REAL us. I love when you blog about dogs and existentialism, Ann!
It's so great to see you blogging again, Mom. My titanium plate is an ever-present feeling. I did some counseling with cousin Jake and it helped out a lot. But, the idea of it being something foreign to me is still very much there. A wild disconnect.
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