“How can anybody know/How they got to be this way?”
How they got to be this way?
“Daughters of the Soho Riots,” The National
It’s 7 January 2017, Zore Neale Hurston‘s birth day; Hurston passed away 28 January 1960, a couple days short of one year before my birth 26 January 1961.
So my 56th birth day looms fewer than 3 weeks away.
Today, the world looks unusual for us in South Carolina:
New years are arbitrary measures of time, and we humans seek any ways possible to understand and control the human condition. The calendar and holidays are some ways we have manufactured to name, organize, and maintain our grip.
As I have detailed lately, today also marks two weeks since I and several other cyclists were struck by a motorist. Writing this now, I notice in just a few minutes, the time will be about exactly when that happened on the morning of Christmas Eve 2016.
I have also confessed that my life has changed. Over the past week, I must admit that it has changed even more than I thought.
Without cycling, I have way too much time, but I also have found it difficult to commit to things the same way I have before. Pain is a problem—distracting and the most potent fertilizer possible for my chronic anxiety and occasional depression.
Yesterday, I finally had a visit with the orthopedist who viewed my x-rays at the emergency room, and almost immediately, I felt better just knowing more from someone with the sort of expertise I do not have.
My medication ran out a few days before this appointment, and along with the increased pain, my fretting was nearly debilitating.
It is embarrassing, but when the anxiety increases, my life is significantly “How can anybody know/How they got to be this way?” | radical eyes for equity:
