If my life were a movie, it would start with me collapsing in my front hallway and the credits would roll as I woke up from a week’s long ‘sleep’ (i.e., drug-induced unconsciousness), ready to fight whomever and whatever needed fighting. I had a tube in my nose to help me breathe, but I didn’t know anything about that. All I knew was that I was in a strange place with strangers all around me, and I was having none of that. But the movie would have ended before any of my cussing was heard. The last shot would be of my eyes flying opens and the medical team cheering.
Credits roll as there’s my Rocky montage of me leaving the hospital and taking a brisk morning constitutional every day–going a bit farther with each walk. No, it’s not that inspirational so maybe roll credits as I leave the hospital. That’ll leave them crying, right? I’m being sarcastic because I’m becoming more and more uncomfortable with the miracle label.
Look. I get that these are hard times. We’re still in the middle of a pandemic in which the best we can hope for is that it becomes like the flu. A few thousand people die from it every year, but it’s mostly treatable. We get a shot that covers the five or six most likely strains per use and roll the dice. The best we can hope for is that wearing masks will remain a thing along with social distancing, but I don’t hold out hope for that. The Republicans are Republicanning and I have all but checked out of politics because it’s just grim.
I know more than one person has mentioned that they needed good news such as my medical story arc. I don’t begrudge people that, but it’s my actual life–the one I’m still living. That one slice of my life is inspiring, sure, but only if you keep a tight focus on that one week. If you pull back the camera to show more of the context, well, it becomes less inspirational. And, not to be too cynical, but’s not actually about me, the person. Why do I say that? Because it could have happened to anyone. I didn’t have a hand in the miracle that everyone keeps claiming happened. Ok, yes, my fourteen years of Taiji practice has probably helped me come back as close to ‘normal’ as I did, but the rest was love and luck. Neither of which I had anything to do with.