Poetic Referendum(s) On Life

Death is Life

I got done with my third yoga class in a month and reached for my notebook to pen these words:

"Eternally terminally ill:
Life is my death sentence."

In other words, I feel like the walking dead...in more ways than one. Physically, I've had my struggles. Mentally, I cannot get with the program. Yoga is teaching me and exercising these tired old limbs, in hopes of being productive and useful again. But I'm learning I resist change, I'm pessimistic and my body is failing me where I was once a superior physical specimen. I'm learning I've got an uphill battle and it's not as easy as it used to be for me. I was the type that didn't have to study much for a test. My body needed little help with conditioning. I've been idle in so many areas of my life for so long, I've never experienced having this many obstacles to overcome.

Besides the bad eyesight, my hearing is bad. I can't even balance myself on one foot. I'm awkward and worry that I'll bump or fall into a fellow classmate during routines that move too fast for me. I try to sit at the back of the room so I don't become a spectacle or raise more self-doubt making me want to skip the rest of these sessions. But I know I must preservere. I must make a fool of myself if I want to get ahead. But, I just can't get with the program.

The one thing above all that I'm noticing is these child like fears that keep springing up. It could be something as simple as my breathing. When to breath in. When to breath out. How to measure those breaths. It's reminding me of the panic I felt as a young one, worrying I would get scolded for not doing something properly. I'm actually worried I will be singled out in front of a class of adults because I didn't exhale for the same amount of time as I inhaled. I don't want to be reminded I could make the mistake of inhaling when I should have exhaled. I'm trying to breath through my nose, but I've been stuffed up with respiratory issues on and off since January. I breath through my mouth repeatedly to compensate. Fortunately, as the exercise routines play out, my airways clear up so that I can get some air through my nostrils, but then all the mucous moves to the back of my throat.

All this discomfort, all these ordinary little problems compounded by the larger physical and emotional setbacks, and I keep reminding myself to just breathe...to just stay calm...to stay the course. I'm so much better for it when the class is over, but then I look back through all the obstacles real and imaginary and wonder if this is my life. Do I go through this day in and day out, putting obstacles in my path? Do I make out some obstacles to be larger than most? Why does my childhood haunt me still?

I came to conclude that I'm still seeking rewards denied me by my Dad growing up, even though I thought I had put this behind me. I transfer this onto others who don't reward me, real or unmerited. I know that I should focus on the positives and look away from the headlights of the past that still lock me in, stare me down, dare me. I feel like I still have a score to settle with the old man for all the years he kept me humble, knocking me down and daring me to get up only to be sent to the mat again.

I also wonder if Mom was a bit of a perfectionist who was overprotective and tried to keep me out of harms way, from experiencing life. There are times I cannot fathom how to overcome some of life's little ailments. I have to learn for myself what it takes to become an adult on my own, tackle my own problems in ways my parents could not understand, in ways they could have never been prepared to instruct me.

So, I packed up my bag, put away my mats, got a basketball and walked into the gym. This was where I could feel good about myself, the realm where I once overachieved because I dreamed of making basketball stardom a reality. That course in life is well in the past, and while I'm legally blind and physically in the worst shape of my life, I can still do things with a basketball that others can only imagine.

My body was becoming tight from the yoga, and I had to continually stretch to keep arms, legs and back limber. But, as I pounded that ball into the floor, I could feel all the anxiety, frustration and depression melt away. As I hoisted that ball and launched shot after shot, calm and satisfaction set in. I could hear the net's rip from over 20 feet away, better than I could visualize that basketball quickly passing through its goal. My confidence was returning, my realizations about my true potential came into the light. The illumination of who I am, what I am capable of, made me wonder how I could let it all slip away in the first place. I can't stay more than a few steps away from the core of my beliefs. I have to tether myself to the happy side of this reality, surround myself with those who know who I am, what I am, and stop listening to the doubts.

Now, if I could just drop a few pounds and get some cardio conditioning under my belt, I could make a few cuts on these less than nimble feet. Be nice to attack the basket, leap or knife my way through the air like I once did. It still gives me a special feeling when I walk off that court and know that I can still make a few jaws drop with all the bombs I land. If they only knew...

Now, I'm at the computer typing about my experiences, getting those special little throbs of pain to let me know what areas of my body I've overworked. I'm fortunate that my wife has the day off, as she is out of the house with Maddie. Alone, and in need of a shower, the blood inside my body is warm, a temporary sense of satisfaction. But, I must stop myself now. Time to raise the bar, add a few more goals and keep the focus on the road ahead. Time to say goodbye to the doubts of the past. Time to live like I was dying.