Seems the darkest moments arrive just before clarity, discovery, recovery. Last weekend, I was veering close to a one-woman pity party, watching my image in the bathroom mirror as I obediently performed my physical therapy. Spent a moment too long looking at my right arm's flaccid tricep as I reached the arm first in front of me, then to the side.
It was the version of pity that made me wonder if I would ever make a cross-country trip on my bicycle. If I would ever buckle the hip and sternum straps on my camping backpack to spend a night or two in the backcountry. Or if I would ever just reach for something and not have to worry whether my arm could handle the weight.
Feels the same with the writing sometimes. I get discouraged. I see what others are doing and think: I want to write that beautifully. I see a list of titles and wonder how people conjure these stories from the recesses of their brains. Will I ever get there with this book that has again shape-shifted in my mind to short stories... maybe?
Then I have a day like yesterday when I was able to write several pages of fresh revision. Or today when the shoulder felt pretty good as I began some new exercises that are designed to start rebuilding the strength in my arm and shoulder. The goal, I realize now, is not to get back the old me. No, it must be to get to the new version, the better version of me. Rose 3.0. Mind and body improved. It'll take some work, but I will get there. And it will be worth all the effort.