The phrase "Rome Wasn't Built In A Day" is really rather silly.
Why do I say such a thing?
The Roman Empire fell.
Ah. I am not a history buff at all. But I'm pretty sure I have the basics down. And I know that in these present times, Rome is not a super power. Rome houses the Pope. But that's about it.
In fact, a lot of us in the chronic illness community look at our current situation in a similar fashion. Recovery Road often bi-sects Rome.
A FALLEN EMPIRE
Don't you see? You're not re-creating who you were before you fell ill.
You're creating a whole new you.
"Oh those were the days..."
The story of a person's life doesn't read like a novel and current biographies drive me bats with how they're constructed! It's the same with "noteable people". Surfers who were attacked by sharks getting back in the water. Anorexic Prima Ballerinas who go back to teaching dance.
Some of us will not be able to go near a surf board or open the door to even another performance again.
And you know what?
That is ok.
When I moved into the apartment complex I live in now back in August 2011, there was a list of three goals, with one of them being to re-join the Jefferson City Symphony. I felt like an abject failure when, in my heart, I just did not want to.
I kid you not, I had not so much as unpacked boxes when I began to get really, really sick. I was sick before I moved in, and I moved here in August 2011. By September 16 I had my G/J replaced. And September 16 2012? Twenty pounds lost in one month.
And well...you know how this past year has gone.
In a way I've been writing a symphony of my own all along. Picking up jagged pieces, perplexed at odd ends that I never knew were there. Whether it was giddy glee or the storm of fury, my limits tested, stretched to the ends of my life.
As I write, composing this...my Magnum Opus...with a ragged quill and running out of ink and at another cross roads as we await the next step I glance out my window.
This building was brand new when I moved into it. Now? I feel as though I've been housed in an ancient dungeon or in my dream home maybe within mere weeks I know this with all I have:
I'm laying down my bricks to this road.
Explosive ideas of other new homes and schools, libraries with worn and valuable first editions and slick new copies of books to invite new readers...
...the road must be finished first.
The cellos must know what to play in order to soften the violins.
What your life used to be is but a distanced memory perhaps you can look back at with a smile.
But now...pick up that first brick, go grab more ink, pick up the pieces. To really recover you must rebuild.
We all have a lot of work to do.