Life is a series of expansion and contraction. An ongoing cycle of birth, death and life again. Patterns of wholeness, breaking down and wholeness again. Whether we orchestrate these cycles, or they are imposed on us, the reality is we must all understand and align with the cycles that manifest in our lives daily.
In the fall of 2008, I had foot surgery – on both feet. I remember it vividly because it was the same year President Barack Obama ran for his first term, and I hopped to the voting booth wearing a surgical boot. The podiatrist said I would need at least 8-weeks of recovery time; she wasn’t lying. She also said I would need to stay off my feet and keep them elevated. If not, the bones wouldn’t heal as they needed to, and inflammation would be of deeper concern. In my planning discussions I ask many questions, mostly about the level of pain I should expect, what would it mean for standing on my feet for long periods of time, what would it mean as I got older – for example will it make me more susceptible to arthritis. Though I was in my mid-twenties, like most, I tend to overthink things. So, I was curious about both short- and long-term effects of the surgery.
Two days post-surgery I was home on the couch, feet up, watching something on T.V. I was bored. I enjoy being about the business of doing, not so much sitting and definitely not watching T.V. Then, although slightly different now, I was an avid “do-er” with a constant need to feel helpful and in service to some activity.
I was alone and needed to make a bathroom run, more accurately a bathroom creep. So slowly, I swung my left leg off the couch, then the right one. Both feet planted on the tan wooden floor of the living room, both feet wrapped in a soft cast, both feet with a pin protruding out from the toe next to my big toe. I took a deep breath and I pushed myself up from the couch. As the full weight of my body came into alignment with my feet, I felt two things immediately – the first was a sense of worry. Worry that maybe I was trying to stand too soon and had further injured something. The second thing I felt was openness. Envision a planet exploding into pieces; initially there are glimmers or streaks of fire immerging from slight cracks, then the cracks get bigger and bigger until all you see is the fire and the cracks have been swallowed. Open.
The second thing I felt, this method of feeling openness, was novel. It was my first foot surgery, first surgery for a broken bone. The moment I stood up, it felt as if every sliver of an opening in my mending foot was expanding. As if my foot would fall apart and disperse on the floor like puzzle pieces. It felt as if the only thing stopping this from happening was my skin – it kept everything in one organized space. For about 2 weeks, it was like this every time I put the full weight of my body on my mending feet.
You may imagine, being on bed rest for 8 weeks gives you plenty of time to think. All I could think about were all the things I would do when I fully recovered. All the places I would go, sandals I would buy to celebrate the new freedom I had seemingly gained. It’s a surprise to many who don’t know me well, but for most of my teenage and early adult life I hated my feet – silly to think of it now but that was my reality for a very long time. I once took a shower, with my then boyfriend, with socks on. Yes, you read that right. Socks on, in the shower, all lathered up. I was sharing my bed, intimate parts of my body and mind with this person. But my toes and feet, o – those were off limits. I’m grateful that he was a patient and kind man who always made me feel safe emotionally. Insecurity is irrational most times.
Years later, I reflected on the post-surgery recovery time; the ways it changed me and the darks spaces where it shed light. That experience of physical openness, reinforced for me three simple yet powerful lessons about being open: 1. Openness is painful, 2. Openness isn’t neat nor organized and 3. You’re never the same after, there’s a new equilibrium.
Openness is painful: When we talk about being open it’s often presented as being fun, cheerful, happy. I’ve certainly said many times – “I’m open!” And while sometimes it can be that simple and the matter at hand isn’t complex. When considering complex matters – the reality is being truly open (open to change of any kind) requires us to say goodbye to familiarity – it requires us to leave the comfort zone. And this can hurt, it can cause us to feel pained, feel anxious about “leaving sure fi unsure.” We sometimes overlook this very valid feeling when we consider openness. It’s painful because it requires letting go of something comforting, letting go of the familiar.
Openness isn’t neat nor organized: I think one of the most dangerous expectations I use to hold is – I’m open…so long as the change looks the way I expect and doesn’t disrupt my current equilibrium and flow. For someone who learned very early on in life that doing things “the right way” is often rewarded in society – it was incredible difficult for me to come to grips with the idea that being open to change was messy AND required flexibility and direct challenge to the status quo. Many of us, myself included, want things to change but stay the same. It feels silly when you come face to face with that realization but it’s similar to this dating idea – we want to usher in a partnership with another person, we want to fold them into our lives and vice-versa. BUT we want our lives (routines, decision making, etc.) to stay the same. We can’t both change and remain the same. We can’t want partnership; yet want our lives to look as it did when single. The sweet spot lies in getting comfortable with the initial feeling of scattered pieces, the feeling that everything is on the brink of falling apart. We must get comfortable with trusting ourselves enough to know that the unorganized will eventually sort itself out and we’ll land in a new equilibrium.
You’re never the same after, there’s a new equilibrium: We need the familiar, that’s normal. It helps us to feel safe and that’s necessary. If we’re being honest with ourselves, when we’ve been truly opened (no matter the circumstance, whether forced or volunteered), changed and established a new equilibrium – If we remain the same, then the question remains were you really open and changed to begin with? If you’ve ever had your heart broken, you know intimately the feeling of being shattered into a million pieces – no exaggeration. Asking yourself the questions – how will I ever get back together again, how I will become whole once more. When you mend and move on – you’re never the same (for better or worst). We must normalize finding new equilibriums. These new spaces may have some remnants of the pre-change you but is an entirely different space curated by the post-change version of yourself. As we move through life gathering and creating memories, we must give ourself permission to be changed. And acknowledge it, in fact – celebrate the changed you, as often as possible.
This isn’t intended to be, in any way, an exhaustive list. Merely musings about an initial reflection on openness. We develop our understanding of openness in varying ways, at varying paces and apply this understanding to varying degrees in our lives. The intention is for us to tune into what it means to be truly open, to expanded beyond comfort and to give credence to who we are when we arrive on the other side.
Until next time, walk gud’
K.H