Good Days and Bad

I never know when I wake up in the morning what kind of day I'm going to have. Sometimes I have really good days - I leap out of bed with tons of energy, I feel inspired, even happy. I go through the day getting lots of little things done. I even practice my violin - something that has definitely gotten sidelined with being sick. I make dinner, have a great evening with my husband, and pat myself on the back. I must be getting healthier, I think. There's light at the end of the tunnel. I go to bed happy, looking forward to another good day.

Sometimes I do end up having a good day the next day. Other times, like yesterday, I wake up after what should have been enough sleep - 10 hours - and feel like I'm in a daze. My brain is foggy and my limbs are heavy. I drag myself to the computer and take my morning meds, thinking that maybe they'll help wake me up. I check my email and blogs and Facebook, still trying to wake up. An hour later, not sure what I've actually been doing for an hour, I stumble back to bed because everything hurts.

When I wake up again an hour and a half later, I still feel like I'm in a fog but now it's almost noon and I have to actually do some things. I stumble through the rest of the day, forgetting to eat until late in the day..maybe I make dinner, maybe I cave and order in because I just can't handle making decisions and standing in front of the stove. Then I kick myself for not eating whole foods from scratch - you know, the kind that will help me get well. We watch some TV and then I stumble back into bed - my constant sanctuary - wondering what kind of day I will have tomorrow.

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It's hard not being able to count on anything. I can't make plans or have goals because I just don't know what I'll be capable of doing tomorrow, or the next day.

Lately I've been getting back into exercising, something I wasn't able to do in the earlier stages of my illness. I'm a fan of the TV show "The Biggest Loser" - I love how hard everyone works in an environment of support and respect. I want to work that hard, I want to become an athlete like the formerly-out-of-shape contestants. Sometimes I go to the gym and have a FABULOUS workout, feeling great afterwards. I'm on my way, I think. Other days my body is literally so heavy I can hardly move. So I don't. I can't set a goal of working out three times this week. Some weeks I work out five or more times. Some weeks I don't work out at all. I just don't know.

I'm starting to practice my violin again. It's like a friend I haven't seen in a long time - I love every minute I get to spend with it. I start building up my practice time, thinking maybe I can get up to something respectable like two hours a day. This works for awhile, then I have a day of such extreme exhaustion that I don't even consider going into the studio.

I love to write. Blogs, journals, something called "morning pages" that I'm doing as I work through "The Artist's Way." I would love to write every day - I feel more alive, more in tune with myself, more able to do other things well. But I swear, the minute I set a goal of writing a little bit every day, I have several bad days in a row or I get the flu or a migraine or...something.

It's depressing; in fact, it may be one of the biggest sources of my depression right now.

It's like God is asking me just to trust him for today. Not tomorrow, not next week, not a year from now. Just today. Wake up today and assess how I'm feeling TODAY...not taking yesterday or tomorrow into account. Asking, what do I want? - and then, going and doing that, not worrying about goals or plans or "have to's."

It sounds so lovely on paper...being present in the here-and-now, living every moment to the fullest of what God has given me for that moment, being honest with myself about my limitations. Just being. Excusing myself from the rat-race of life.

But I chafe.

I want to have goals, lists, plans. I want to see my life going somewhere. Though I've always eschewed the idea of a five year plan, I do like to have an *idea* of what the future is going to look like. But I don't. Hell, I don't even know what tomorrow is going to look like.

Being present, one moment at a time, is the hardest thing I've ever been asked to do. It's a laying aside of my human desire for big goals, achievements, successes. It's learning to rest, to refuse to equate my value with my doing. Sometimes it's struggling with the depression and isolation of not being able to relate to everyone else's busy lives and packed dayplanners.

But then I'm reminded that depression isn't always a bad thing. Oh, it can be. It can be ugly and brutal. But I think, right now, I'd choose the depression that comes with stepping off the treadmill of busyness rather than the meaningless filling-my-life-up-with-lists-and-plans.

Of course, I see it that way for a very simple reason...today is a good day.