I think I'm decidedly still recovering from choir school week, singing for hours, going to worship, re-meeting friends and making new ones, and other hijinks. I've been physically and emotionally exhausted (otherwise known as "peopled out" in this house), but spiritually filled.
There is definitely something different in returning to a place than there is in experiencing it for the first time. Names came in spurts and pieces, many of them that I had seen with tiny pictures attached to them on Facebook but could now connect in person once more, smiling and breathing. Shared silences, important conversations, a hug that lingers because it needs to, a smirk from across the group at rehearsal, and all in between. There were a few individuals that came up and told me that they appreciate my blog, which is certainly good for my heart, too, in different ways. ;)
And there's something holy, too, in singing together in a group like that, a hundred and forty or so voices holding together in the same song, different notes that make up the chord. Every voice there has a story, contexts and baggage that they bring with them to the song, different meanings that the text of the piece means to them as a result. Watching, anticipating, breathless, belting out notes together as one, there is a real sense of belonging in choral singing. And there is a real sense of belonging, especially now, for me with this group.
If you're interested in joining us next year, by the bye, I would encourage that you check out this link here.
With all of the singing this week, I've very much been thinking about my abdominal muscles. I can't quite breathe, still, the way that I used to, as far as getting a choral breath. I'm not sure how much of this is permanent and how much of it is still latent weakness from the surgery. Additionally, I'm not sure how much of this is actual muscle weakness and how much of it is mental--I think about it every time I take a deep breath and engage the muscles I remember I'm supposed to, there's just that spot that feels odd where Melvin is and I worry, which takes away my focus. This week provided me with some "workshopping" time to think about that a bit more than I had in a condensed period. I might have figured out a couple of things to keep trying (and I'm sure I made more than one interesting face in that process).
I was trying to compare elements of this trip to Choir School against the first time that I went. As humans, we like finding patterns, always comparing new things to things we already understand in order to find some footing in whatever the new thing is, hopefully allowing this experience to flex and become itself in time.
I struggled with this once it clicked just how much my health last time had colored parts of the experience. My need to feel included is often at odds for my need for self care--I've known that about myself for years. As my health has fluxes and the target moves with it, it's there still room enough left to really live? Intellectually, I understand that it is important to pull away from the group when I need to rest; in practice, I resent the hell of out of it.
Feeling this much better this time and being able to fully throw myself into the experience was wonderful, and definitely put further into perspective where I'm at now and just how badly things have been. That sounds positive, but it actually is a slurry of emotions. I don't like how skewed my perspective is. I resent how much I've missed out on, especially understanding better how distracted I was. I'm all the more grateful to be where I am. I'm so angry about how long I was in that state of health, that I could consider it"normal." How many other things have I missed out on or not embraced fully because I was too busy weighing my energy budget? Or where have I failed to be present? What am I looking forward to doing now that I can?
...yes, I'm aware that at least three of those are the same thing in different words. I have a lot of grieving yet to do about missed opportunities, relationships, and all else that I've missed as a result of my disease directly or the self-care ramifications thereof. There's a lot to cry about in the same moments that I'm relieved to reclaim elements of who I thought I was, establishing wholly who I am now. But that's the paradox in a nutshell now: my excitement and joy in participating in life again also brings into focus all the grief I have in missing out on it in the first place. Isn't that a delightful mess to sort through?
There's a lot more to unpack with that. What I'll stick with now, though, is my gratitude to be part of this community and the other relationships that have been warm spots in my memory. Thank you all for adding splashes of color to my life.
I struggled with this once it clicked just how much my health last time had colored parts of the experience. My need to feel included is often at odds for my need for self care--I've known that about myself for years. As my health has fluxes and the target moves with it, it's there still room enough left to really live? Intellectually, I understand that it is important to pull away from the group when I need to rest; in practice, I resent the hell of out of it.
Feeling this much better this time and being able to fully throw myself into the experience was wonderful, and definitely put further into perspective where I'm at now and just how badly things have been. That sounds positive, but it actually is a slurry of emotions. I don't like how skewed my perspective is. I resent how much I've missed out on, especially understanding better how distracted I was. I'm all the more grateful to be where I am. I'm so angry about how long I was in that state of health, that I could consider it"normal." How many other things have I missed out on or not embraced fully because I was too busy weighing my energy budget? Or where have I failed to be present? What am I looking forward to doing now that I can?
...yes, I'm aware that at least three of those are the same thing in different words. I have a lot of grieving yet to do about missed opportunities, relationships, and all else that I've missed as a result of my disease directly or the self-care ramifications thereof. There's a lot to cry about in the same moments that I'm relieved to reclaim elements of who I thought I was, establishing wholly who I am now. But that's the paradox in a nutshell now: my excitement and joy in participating in life again also brings into focus all the grief I have in missing out on it in the first place. Isn't that a delightful mess to sort through?
There's a lot more to unpack with that. What I'll stick with now, though, is my gratitude to be part of this community and the other relationships that have been warm spots in my memory. Thank you all for adding splashes of color to my life.
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