2016 started a bit rocky.
The year started with a drama filled night in Taipei, followed by a frantic search for a new flight due to misreading of China’s visa-free program, and an impromptu weekend in Tahoe. The weekend was wonderful, except it led to two full weeks of the most painful illness and incredible crabbiness. Valentine’s weekend would have been great had it not been for one terrible fall that resulted in some bruised ribs that led to a few more weeks of bedriddenness. Then when I finally recovered from that, I planned an awesome hike, during which I tried to climb a tree (and failed), leading to a dislocated shoulder. I was supposed to rest for six weeks, and I got pretty close before heading back to the gym. My shoulder did fine, my immune system, on the other hand, decided I was too ambitious, and protested by taking my voice away.
So here I am, sitting in bed, eating dumplings and leftovers, drinking warm water with honey, wishing I could join the laughter and conversation of my lovely roommates (I actually tried, but the worse-than-Godfather raspy voice is just not conducive to girl talk). My epiphany?
I would not do well at a silent retreat.
And, I should no longer be on a high deductible insurance plan.
Also, health is more important than anything else in life.
Last year around this time, I was running 5 days a week and prepping for my first sprint triathlon. This year, I’m watching Gilmore Girls marathon next to a pile of used tissues.
My body is breaking down.
It seems that recently, I’ve seen many stories of people fighting for their lives. They are incredible stories, and had I read them in a newspaper or a book I would be shedding tears. Except these aren’t just stories. They are real people, and more than sadness, I feel a sense of helplessness and resignation. And I know as I get older, these stories will be closer and closer to me. Who knows? Perhaps one day I will be one of the stories.
Life is fragile.