The Robin's Nest

 The Lord's been good to me.  She sent me a friend who could always see the truth of my situation.  The gentle glint of her eyes anesthetizes the sharpness of her rapier.  When we were young, I could sometimes hide from it; now that I'm old, I just don't bother.

"Why do you find it necessary to try and save everyone and everything?"  She asks.

That's the question, isn't it?  That's THE question.  The answer is not so simple.  Part of the answer is that I had a moderately privileged upbringing, exaggerated by the reputations of my father (who was always out of town) and my uncle (who was actually dead.)  I was receiving credit for things I had nothing to do with, and I knew it, and it bothered me.  A lot.  

I had a moderately privileged life in a world where nearly everyone was desperately underserved and suffering, and if I gave away everything I ever had, it wouldn't make a dent in that condition.  Psychologists and sociologists call it "white guilt" or "survivor's guilt."  Whatever you call it, I had it in spades, and it made enjoying the privileges of being privileged very difficult.

Dickenson says to help one fainting robin unto his nest again, and I will not live in vain.  That's great advice, but Dickenson was a devoted recluse and couldn't see the thousands of naked, struggling robins dying on the ground with no one caring to look if their nest was even close by.  I understand why Dickenson became a recluse.  I tried it myself.  I failed.

Suffering, when I'm not the one suffering, makes me insane.  It splits my mind into a million different directions.  Sometimes I can help.  Most of the time, I can't.  The thousand failures make it difficult to enjoy the precious few victories.  

In my rehabilitation, I'm surrounded by people in much worse shape than I.  The staff here is world-class, but even they can't provide comfort for some of the sufferings.  If I'm to recover, I have to focus on myself.  One step, two steps, three steps, look up, straighten my back, take my meds, watch my diet.  Pretend as if everything is normal and smile at everyone like it's afternoon tea, even when they're in genuine distress, distress that will never go away.  I can be gentle, I can be kind, but I can't actually help.

I am Sisyphos, endlessly pushing a boulder up a hill.  At least Sisyphos knew what his sins were.  When the moon is right, I can sometimes move one of my boulders to the top.  No rest, though; there are thousands of boulders still at the bottom.

So, Why do I find it necessary to try and save everyone and everything?  If I'm honest, then I suppose the answer is: because I cannot.  

 

The Gait Belt

 Let me introduce ya'll to something called a Gait Belt.  They're constructed like and buckle like a football or Boy Scout belt.  They're a tool of the trade for Physical Therapists and Occupational Therapists.

Like a Boy Scout belt, the Gait Belt has a million different uses, but its primary function is to act like a handle for the therapist when they work with you.  Using the belt, they can grab hold of it and guide you when you're heading in the wrong direction,  they can tug the belt and correct you if you're not using the correct form, and they can use the Gait Belt to pull you to safety if you stumble or lose your strength.

Therapists work like football coaches because they condition your body and strengthen it.  They work like a Scout Master in that they teach you the right, safe, and best way to do things.  Unlike football coaches, therapists don't tell you to tough it out or work through the pain.  They definitely don't ask you to bust some heads.  Like a Scout Master, they tell you to be prepared and remember safety first.  

I think my mom would have benefited by putting me in a Gait Belt starting around nineteen sixty-five.  They call it a Gait Belt because it's used to help build and correct your gait, but I might call it a Gate Belt because the therapy is a gateway towards getting my life back. 

I may continue to wear my Gait Belt long after I no longer need therapy.  If you see me wearing a Gait belt and feel like I need to correct my course, improve my form, or a pull to safety, feel free.  If you see me wearing it, know it's a sign of gratitude for all the people who helped restore me, including many of you reading this.