Tag: Living with a disability

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SCI Grenades: Weapons of Mass Distraction

For you fellow SCIs, or other involved, animal lovers who have one trouble-making “alpha,” this is my harmless, but effective, ammunition for breaking up pet fights. (I was bullied into its invention because I can’t squeeze a spray bottle to interrupt unwanted behaviors.) Before I get to it, everyone else has to hear my short spiel:

Becoming a pet owner is a big responsibility, and research is tantamount before adopting.

I’m a proponent of adopting from shelters. Even though most are Heinz 57 varieties, you can identify a predominant breed characteristic. Thus said, breed types, temperaments, longevity, veterinary bills (annuals, neutering or spaying, health issues), must be taken into consideration. Too many pets are chosen on looks alone, then rejected because they’re destructive (meaning bored with no exercise), require too much attention, need veterinary care, and/or aren’t suited for the owner/family’s lifestyle.

Please, know that animals should be an integral part of your life, not a possession you tire of, ignore, or abuse. As He did us, God created them on the sixth day and saw that “…it is very good.”

Fred Astaire-the debonair
Fred Astaire-the debonair

Now, to my feline “boys,” Fred Astaire and Laptop. (I dedicated the chapter, “A Little Bit of Heaven,” in Views From My Chariot http://booklocker.com/books/6235.html  to my pets. You know they’re exceptional!)

Fred was a feral I tamed. Two years later, I saved Laptop from being euthanized. All went well until Laptop turned three or four; I can’t remember exactly.

Initially, the skirmishes were tame. They would start out as brotherly grooming—Laptop ministering to Fred. Things were copasetic for a time…until Laptop (a head taller and five pounds heavier) began exercising his alpha-ness.

Laptop begins lovingly grooming Fred’s head and ears then, atypically, body slams Fred to the floor, deceptively licking all the while.

Laptop's deceptive "come hither"
Laptop’s deceptive “come hither”

Fred’s a lover not a fighter, so he complies. But somehow, during the body slam, Laptop maneuvers into a tactical spooning position over Fred as he licks. Fred complains ever so slightly until…with all four paws embracing Fred in a body hold, Laptop goes for the jugular.

If you could feel it, Fred’s screeching would send chills up your spine! The aftermath of cat fur looks like evidence of a feather pillow fight.
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Here’s my SCI-approved device for interrupting an all-out fight, equivalent to the ding-ding-ding of the boxing round timer: an empty 16 oz. plastic water bottle loaded with 5-10 pennies.

Normally, a rigorous shake is enough to send them running in opposite directions. But, when the battle has reached a screeching fever pitch, it’s expedient to hurl the device into their midst.

Since I can’t hop out of bed to break up night skirmishes, I’m armed with three in my bed; otherwise, one is in my kitchen and one, in my office. There have also been surprise attacks when I have thrown whatever liquid was in my hand. Clean-ups suck!

I digress. This morning, Laptop had two of his “Submit!” demonstrations over Fred. I was semi-armed for the second.

The skirmish erupted in the kitchen at the east end of my six foot long table. I was at the opposite end without a grenade, but my vitamin bottles were out for my week’s daily dosages. I grabbed the nearest, shook it for all it was worth, like pulling the pin, and hurled it into the battlefield.

Well, this one wrought a triple whammy of distraction: the warning rattle, the explosive landing, and the shrapnel of 60 vitamins ricocheting everywhere.

It worked! But, instead of running for cover, they acted like drug-sniffing cats.

As penance for not screwing the cap on tightly, I picked up each capsule, one by one; and some, over and over and over. Sort of like writing on the blackboard: “I will tighten my vitamin bottle caps. I will tighten my vitamin bottle caps. I will tighten my vitamin bottle caps…”

I will not soon forget!

 

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Friendship

family and friends
family and friends

Even in the able-bodied world, friendships can be complicated. Here are a few categories of friendship I have experienced:

There are golden friendships established in childhood or adolescence. We share in life’s most precious moments—making sense of life’s confusion, first-love, marriage, children, grandchildren, and the grief of lost loved ones.

We share in each other’s dreams and complete the other’s thoughts. Each step of our journey is taken hand-in-hand, side-by-side. Sometimes, as in my case, it’s a sister.

Silver friendships come during or after college. All friendships are special, but these tend to occur in serenpiditous circumstances.

“Serendipity” means “pleasant surprise.” We met these friends on a double-date, in a class, sport, hobby, sorority or fraternity, at a wedding, as the spouse, friend, or relative of our spouse, friend, or relative. My silver friendships are now long-distance friendships due to moves for marriage, job transfers, and life changes. (Another serendipity of these friendships is that no matter the length of time between getting in touch, you pick up where you left off!)

Some friendships are seasonal. Our paths cross at a specific time, for a specific purpose–from a few months to a few years. Then, they disappear from our lives.

This type of friendship is as valuable as the other stable, life-sharing relationships. But just like them, you can’t predict how long they will last. Accept that these friendships have an expiration date. Remember the blessings imprinted in your heart, because its completion is no one’s fault. These friends come into our lives for a season.

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There are also people who don’t need friendship. They’re completely happy being an island to themselves; they seek no greater fulfillment than their family. They will spend time with you when you invite them to, even call you up or stop to talk when you meet in passing. There’s nothing wrong with them, or you, when roots don’t grow.

Some people aren’t friendship material. They have self-serving motivations and come with the fear of being found out. They have nothing meaningful to give; they’re takers. Learn to recognize them for who they are, and don’t hang-on to one for the same reasons.

Specific to SCI and others living with an illness or disease, there are people who want to be charitable and of service. They offer their assistance and time to help with transportation, errands, shopping, meals, whatever needs arise. But in time, let’s face it, our reality wears them down: we may have to cancel or reschedule appointments due to health issues, accidents, or rain; lifting our wheelchair in-and-out of the car, unpredictable terraine, and inaccessibility is difficult for them.

Although these people will be a fond, appreciated acquaintance, life may sometime get in the way of a deepening relationship. Yet, some of them do become lifelong friends. I include them in my golden friendships.

With each friendship, enjoy the silver, and the gold, as well as those of mixed metals. Each will teach you something about yourself.

What kind of friend are you?

 

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“Do be a ‘Do Bee.’ Don’t be a ‘Don’t Bee.’”

You baby boomers should recognize this from Romper Room!

Mr. Do-Bee was an oversized bumblebee who taught the children proper manners. His sentences began with, “Do Bee good boys and girls for your parents!” Of course, there was a Mr. Don’t Bee to teach what not to do.

At the end of each show, Miss Fran (?) held up her magic hand–held mirror, without a mirror, and looked (into the camera, directly at you) to see if you were being good and what you were doing? She always called out the name of the children she saw in “televisionland,” saying, “I can see Johnny and Frankie and Susie and….”

When she held up her magic mirror, my anticipation swelled, only to be deflated when my name wasn’t among the seen. I secretly wanted Miss Fran to see me through her magic mirror. I wanted her to tell me that I, too, was being good. She never did; nor did anyone else, until I was in high school.

I was the middle child between a much older, athletically-talented, popular big brother and a younger baby sister. Not to upset the family status quo, I learned early to take care of myself, to be quiet, and to not make waves. Independence and self-sufficiency became my emotional BandAids.

Unconsciously, we all adopt coping mechanisms for our particular family dynamics. Until we cognize our limiting beliefs, we subconsciously continue our adaptations to environmental, emotional, mental, and physical circumstances with the exact coping behaviors established in childhood.

Toni Morrison brought a subliminal emotional message to my mental attention when she challenged with this question: “Does your face light up when your child (or anyone, for that matter) comes into the room?”

We come into this world wired for parental love and approbation to feel we’re seen so most of us notice if our gaze meets theirs with joy and pleasure. We also see  critical, judgmental scans scrutinizing outward appearance, dress, hygiene, and behavior. It’s in these instances that we conclude: we’re not special. The beauty of who we are isn’t seen.

For me, the abrupt juxtaposition of SCI into my active, appearance-driven lifestyle ushered in positive waves of inner transformation- a double whammy. Not only did I notice other’s avoidance to see me, I began to see that my manners resembled those of Mr. Don’t Bee. Patience, kindness and gratitude called for my attention.

Just as the constant, faithful flow of water breathtakingly sculpts the earth (or hideously erodes landscapes), life interruptions (SCI, disease, illness, grief, depression) are opportunities to smooth down our sharp edges for beautifying change, in spite of other’s “sharp edges.”
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“The constant dripping of water sculpts the stone.” is a paraphrase of the Latin proverb, “Gutta cavat lapidem.”

Rumi got to the point: “If you are irritated by every rub, how will your mirror be polished?” Again, a double whammy: we are responsible ONLY for adjusting our insecurities NOT other’s…concerning anything!

If you’re resisting making character changes as the result of “whatever interruption” is in your life, your rough edges remain. If only you would embrace the irritating rub to mirror your polish.

As Miss Fran said, “I see Matthew and Macie and YOU in computerland, BEcoming THE BEST YOU”bumblebeeDo be a ‘Do Bee.’ Make honey from your bitter flower!

P.S. For a food for thought smorgasbord of how disability nudged me to smooth my rough edges, nibble on my book, HOW TO BE THE BEST YOU http://booklocker.com/books/6811.html

 

 

 

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Life Is: But A Prayer

Despite life’s uncertainties and living with a disability, I believe our lives are but a prayer.

What is prayer? An address or petition in words, thoughts, emotions, or actions, to God or a god, person or thing for help and/or enlightenment, of praise and/or thanksgiving.

For as long as I can remember, within me has been a deep knowing that God is there. He is my Father, and Friend. Even in the physical, mental, emotional, and spiritual battles living with a disability, I know ALL is well with my soul. It’s not up for debate. It’s a foregone conclusion. It’s the truth. Period. All I have to do is be still, be quite, and b-r-e-a-t-h-e.  It’s so simple to pause, yet so difficult to stop thinking, worrying, emoting, and imagining.

Like I told you in my last week’s article, I’m in a bout with the herpes zoster virus: shingles. Before the blisters appeared, I ignored the early “electric nerve tingling” symptoms; they’re typical in living with SCI.

The shingles diagnosis was a shocking surprise for me because my mother had told me that I never had chicken pox. Well, obviously, the truth is: I never evidenced symptoms of chicken pox, but the virus took up residence anyway!

From reading my books, you know what I believe and where I dwell, despite the battle. Shingles is a physically painful and mentally challenging battle.

My eyes behold the inflamed skin encircling scattered islands of blisters. My body’s tactile sensitivity to the viral nerve attack keeps me mindful during the day and awakens me in the night. So, how do I respond?

Just as the confused house wren awakens me at 3:55 and 4:15 many mornings, I have succumbed to the confusing ifs: What if the virus lives on? If it hasn’t died, will it present its venomous head again?

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I don’t like to think these thoughts anymore than you do. But, I take security in knowing that they’re merely thoughts.

Thoughts aren’t necessarily prophetic—thinking them will not make them come about.They’re not the truth—thinking them doesn’t make them real.

I can hear my thoughts, but I don’t have to listen to them. I filter my thoughts by weighing their motivation. If they’re beneficial, creative, and productive, I give them power by indulging their possibilities. If not, they get deleted…every time they try to put fear in my heart. As you know, some thoughts are very persistent! (I dedicated one section of my book HOW TO BE THE BEST YOU http://booklocker.com/books/6811.html on how to change unwanted though patterns.)

The other morning when my faithful little wren woke me, I was instantly made aware of the shooting nerve fire down my leg. Simultaneously, I was distracted by what I thought the wren was saying. As clear as any chirp ever was, it said, “You feel the pain. You feel the pain. You feel the pain.”

I certainly could—feel the pain, and I gratefully thanked God.

Sometimes, we have to accept the good along with the bad. That’s life. Whether it’s living with a disability or dealing with life’s curve balls, no one is exempt. The important thing is where we put the emphasis.

Practice makes perfect.

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WOEISME! Shingles!

Let me say it again, WOE IS ME!

I’m sure you noticed that last Friday’s post was a lonely quote. Let me explain:

On the previous Monday, I began experiencing a dull pressure on the inside of my left knee. Tuesday, there was swelling, and the dull pressure increased to sharp intermittent pains. Assuming it to be SCI-related nerve firings but wanting to be safe, I called to report it to my doctor. His nurse informed me that their computers were down, but she would give him my message.

He called Wednesday urging me to go to the emergency room without delay. He called in orders for a bilateral venous ultrasound to rule out the possibility of a deep blood clot. Meanwhile, the sharp pains had turned into intermittent shocks of fire and progressed up my thigh and down my knee–unlike SCI nerve pain. Also, there were two angry patches, one on the top of my knee and the other on the inside of my upper thigh, near a recent cat scratch. Hmmm.

Upon admittance, I reiterated my growing symptoms and pointed out the curious rash. Seeming to have plugs in their ears, the nurses made notes and the technicians rotely performed the ultrasound (thankfully, no blood clot), wrote out a prescription for pain/inflammation, and dismissed me. In my typical fashion, I didn’t fill the prescription.

After a miserable night, I went to First Care, a privately owned emergency medical facility. Although my left leg was now  numb, it hurt to the touch, and there were two more big red patches—like separated twins—one on either side of my knee, then a third one on my left calf.

This time, the doctor listened, joked, examined, and re-examined my cat scratches. His diagnosis: cat scratch fever.  He wrote out a prescription for an antibiotic and topical ointment.

Finally! I felt like this doctor knew what he was talking about. I took a couple of Bufferin for the pain, confident that the antibiotic would kick in within 24 to 36 hours. It was Thursday afternoon.

By Saturday, the intermittent burning shocks ran down both sides of my knee and on down behind my ankle. The patches had multiplied with painful blister-like eruptions inside the angry inflammations, and I stopped the prescribed ointment because it heightened the pain! I had to keep my skirt hem off my left leg. Due to a new symptom of back pain, I was propped up in bed by 5:00 p.m.

My sister came over, took pictures on her iPhone, and sent them to her sister-in-law, now on ER doctor. She thought it looked like shingles. After one more round of emailing pictures to a doctor specializing in shingles, it was confirmed: shingles!

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At 11:00 p.m. and at my protest, my sister picked up four written prescriptions—an anti-viral, an anti-inflammatory, a pain pill for viral pain, and another pain pill. Again, they’re unfilled.

I was past the “72 hours after the rash appears” for the vaccine and some medications, so I chose a natural approach. I’M NOT RECOMMENDING THIS, but I’m only five days in, after a four-day-delay, bathing these dozen islands of rashes in a selection of Young Living’s Essential oils.

I’ve had two straight nights of restful sleep without pain spasms, the blisters are drying up and their encircling red patches have disappeared. Rash pain is mild. I could wear my skirt over my leg today without pain chills from its touch, though I prefer it off that leg. I’m still experiencing some back pain, the occasional headache, chills, and stomach aches–all symptomatic.

I am SO-O-O grateful it’s only on one leg. Countless times, I’ve thought of Job who suffered with boils over his entire body! After the emotional stress of all his servants, livestock, and family being killed and his home destroyed, I wonder if the boils were shingles. He had them from the top of his head to the soles of his feet! I can’t imagine the pain.

I’ll have an update next week.

Have you any experience with shingles?

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Love’s Concessions

We’re all aware of the necessity for clear communication, but how many of us realize the importance of give-and-take or compromise to occur for relationships to flourish and thrive?

Each category of disability suffers a specific physiological loss in its communicative efficiency, e.g., deafness and lack of verbal speech. But universally, the abled-bodied and disabled alike, suffer a greater and more divisive element in communication: the mental and emotional disconnect of misunderstanding, conflict, and discord. For clarification, indulge me for a couple of definitions.

In civil or corporate cases, lawyers, a judge or a judge and jury serve as judiciary arbiters because a compromise—an agreement for both sides to give up something to improve a situation—couldn’t be agreed upon out of court.

Because the powers that be could not reach mutual concessions for peace in times of war, an unbiased mediator is required for a successful compromise—to find an intermediate concession. Even on a world level, The United Nations was created as an international forum to develop positive relationships, promote peace and security, and establish cooperation in solving problems around the world.

Without saying, there is a great divide on the worldwide humanitarian level with societal differences. Mediation is critical for peace. I’m honing in on our individual responsibility for compromise to maintain peace in our romantic, caregiver, and life-long relationships.

Too many of us think that the endorphin overdrive we feel when romantically drawn to someone IS love. They’re neurotransmitters. Period. If they were resultant from true love, we would live in Utopia.

While we flippantly disregard the saying, “You can’t live on love alone.” it silently heralds the importance of commitment, communication, and trust. I believe that the cornerstone for any “normal” partnership or relationship (disabled or not) is commitment; but without the mortar of communication and trust, they crumble in misunderstandings and conflict.

A relationship without these is like the Pacman game; day-to-day realities (Pacman) consume the endorphin-producing emotions, especially for spousal or significant other (SO) carer collaborations. They’re REALLY hard. When life happens, we believe we’ve fallen out of love. When in truth, we never were. It was an endorphin-induced high. We came down.            

All relationships run into difficulties, but when a spouse takes on the role of caregiver for the disabled other, it can be stress and hurt 24/7…if without compromise. Instead of idolizing the notion of what love is—longing glances, stomach butterflies, endorphin highs—then hurling blame, judgement, and criticism at each other when its intoxicating vapor evaporates, focus on character and integrity.

How does your significant other deal with conflict; with wisdom and understanding or with anger and criticism?

How do they solve problems; with a hopeful heart and hearing ears or with denial and finger-pointing?

Are they fair, kind, and honest or irresponsible and combative?

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When things get tough, love is having each others’ back.

If your relationship is characterized by frequent conflicts, and you are disrespected by your significant other, give them time and the freedom to grow, just not at your emotional expense. If quarrels and resentments characterize your partnership as the 24/7 caregiver of your spouse or SO, enlist help. If not, these can develop into debilitating co-dependent dynamics, unhealthy for both.

If you are the one who doesn’t want to give to or make compromises in your relationship, at least give them the truth. Own it. Be an adult.

Even after heart-safe trust is an earned harbor, when you know a truth is necessary, but it will be hard to receive, wait until you can speak it genuinely, in love; never off the tongue rashly, sarcastically or concealed behind humor. That’s unloving, deceitful, and a stab in the back.

Instead of the give-and-take or compromise in love, I think it’s the give-and-get of love. Remember my article, “Beware: Karma—BANG! BANG! DUCK! http://conversationswithcynthia.com/2013/03/15/be-aware-of-ka…bang-bang-duck/ . What you give, you get in return; hopefully, it’s respect, consideration, kindness, dependability, patience, forgiveness, an available shoulder, a sympathetic ear.

Upon further consideration, if there is anything to take, how about your dishes to the kitchen, the garbage to the curb, and the dog for a walk.

I want you to be the best you! http://booklocker.com/books/6811.html HOW TO BE THE BEST YOU-from A to Z

P.S. Here http://personalitycafe.com/articles/112444-five-love-languages-explained.html you will find a synopsis of Gary D. Chapman’s book, The Five Love Languages, an eye-opening explanation of how we give and interpret love. A revelatory read!

  

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Daydreaming-A Poem

Healing is on its way;
Maybe, in one more day.

But while you wait
Make no mistake,

Daydreams can come true.
Let me tell you what to do:

With smiling face,
Go to your happy place.

Close your eyes and make a wish.
Did you go somewhere to fish?

Did you consume your favorite fare
Or splurge at a spa for your body’s care?

Did you try something you’ve dreamed about
Or enjoy a leisure day around the house?

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Until you realize the hope in your heart,
Daydreams are the place to start.

Make it a good one that seems out of reach,
Like lolling around on a distant beach.

A mountain cabin nestled in pristine snow
Could also be the place to go.

Mentally go there to quell your stress
Or to run away and be by yourself.

Your mind should be a healing balm of peace.
Don’t waste its power to disgruntle disease.

(Go here for daydreaming examples–  http://conversationswithcynthia.com/2012/09/14/soul-soaring-n…elchair-needed/)

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When Reality Bites

I’m a dreamer and a visionary. Some call me unrealistic; I’m creative and think out-of-the-box. Some say I’m too particular. I’m an unrelenting doer aka stubborn; and a rebel, because I’m not tied to the status quo.  Since living with a SCI, my body also has a mind of its own.

There are days that my fingers rebel–they don’t want to bend, grip, or squeeze. For those times, I’m realistic. I keep plastic glasses and unbreakable dishes, go without make-up, dress in something that goes over my head, struggle with hygiene issues, and drop LOTS of things.

When my fingers are cooperative, my hands decide to drop what my fingers want to hold, like my litter scooper. That’s when it’s easier waiting 24 hours to, literally, “pick up” hardened clumps of litter from the litter box than to scoop them.

On any of these given days when my reality bites (ramifications of disability), or the day thereafter, you will find one or more of the following items strewn on the floor throughout my home: magazines, books, pens with their to-do list or notebook, pillows, dental picks, my hair brush, my cat groomer, broken glass, scattered espresso grounds with brown streaks of espresso running down my cabinet (and brown wheelchair tracks when I forget they are there); even a meal, partially dried and thoroughly stuck to the floor under my oven. C’est la vie! (That’s life!) Or, that’s (only a SMALL part of) my life.

To add insult to injury, I used to be a neat freak; still am, somewhat. To keep my sanity, and sense of humor, I’ve learned to let go (pun intended) of what I can’t control. That doesn’t mean that I don’t cuss, cry, or throw something in frustration. It simply means: I push on. Quitting isn’t an option. (Read the “I quit. No, wait. Never mind.” chapter in my book, Views From My Chariot: A Wheelchair Oddity http://booklocker.com/books/6235.html , for expensive frustrations!)

You can call me unrealistic, particular, stubborn, and/or a rebel. I don’t mind; you’ve a right to your opinion. But…

I KNOW: Thinking out-of-the-box to solve daily limitations and their frustrations instead of complaining about my circumstance, has brought me contentment and peace.
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I KNOW: Being persistent and determined to live as independently as possible instead of expecting someone else to take care of me, has given me that independence. I’m grateful for it.

I KNOW: In respecting my life and well-being more than fearing other’s judgement of how I live it, I am gratefully responsible for, and happily free to reach, my potential.

I KNOW: As a result of dreaming and believing in my abilities instead of succumbing to a disability, I’m living my purpose.

Are you?

When reality bites, bite back…with a bulldog grip!

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My Pearl

I want to take you on an historic walk along the scenic ocean shore. Please, bear with my analogies. (I could have said “Bare with…” which means “get naked”…do what you will to get in the mood:))

It has never been my thing to talk a lot, particularly about myself. Solitude is, and has been, my oyster shell. Solitude remains a harboring place and cultivating bay for me.

 

Still waters

The sands of time have rudely, but mercifully, exfoliated the overgrowth of barnacles and parasites that have tried to infect the pearl God so caringly implanted inside me. In spite of or because of these rhythmic disturbances in my cultivation, my pearl has finally been harvested. It remains in the polishing stage, but its color and luster are appearing.

My voice, silenced since childhood, is my pearl. And like a ventriloquist, I talk with my hands; more specifically, my middle finger. NO, I’m not talking birds; I type with my middle finger.

I’m a slow southern talker of about 8 words a minute. I’ve been talking steadily for a while now but am still treading water in this social media thing. My cyber synapses are sparking to catch up with my speedy Gonzales fingers. ARRIBA!
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My first book has been out since June, and I’m tweaking my second. My first children’s book will be out late winter or first of the year. I post each Friday on this blog, AND the first week of each month, I update at www.facebook.com/ConversationsWithCynthia. I’m going to talk your eyes out of your head.

Of course, you can’t “like” my first book, Views From My Chariot: A Wheelchair Oddity, until you actually read it. You can PURCHASE it at http://booklocker.com/books/6235.htmlthen, let’s talk.

Please leave me a comment or review after my June 21, 2012 article, “Views From My Chariot: A Wheelchair Oddity IS HERE!”

Talk to you soon.

 

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Soul Soaring

What weighs 110-115 deadweight pounds and is shackled to the earth by 30 pounds of metal? ME!

I used to love leg wrestling; and I was good, weighing in at only 105 pounds. I never studied or was trained in wrestling techniques; I just knew how to take another off-balance. It’s at the waist—the center of gravity. As long as I could get one of their legs from under their center of gravity, it was my match. Whether scuffling in the yard or in water (pool, ocean, lake, or swimming hole), it made no difference, except for the landing; which brings me back to deadweight.

Thefreedictionary.com defines deadweight as, “The unrelieved weight of a heavy, motionless mass.” Yes. Motionless? Yeah, except for my Scream 5-ish open-mouth/empty eyes, ghostly white face go-i-n-g  d-o-w-n. THUD! Early on, I even did a “motionless” face-plant into my dinner plate, stimulated from a back spasm. I’m sure a couple of you resemble that.

Let’s, for a minute, cast our deadweight aside, lift-off in our weightless imaginations, and go soul-soaring. Let’s

…silently hang glide with eagles aloft cool mountain currents over verdant valleys below. Listen to the whistling wind as it strokes your hair and kisses your face.

…swish down steep powder trails on air-spring knees with ski-pole’s rhythmic propulsion and metronome timing as silent ice crystals melt on your face and crown your toboggan.

…glide silently beneath the frigid water’s surface gently tossed in its oscillating ebb and flow. Soak in voyeuristic vistas of fish’s synchronized movements as you fluidly float among them, hearing only your Darth Vader-ish breathe in surround-sound.

…with tight grip, slalom on a tranquil mornings’ smooth-as-glass cool lake waters, whose only ripple is the boat’s wake.

…take a running leap off a crusty lichen-covered boulder into the still lake thirty feet below, dropping deep, and deeper into its black abyss. Feel your chest swell as you pull the waters down to propel your body up. When you finally burst through the liquid cocoon’s surface, you gasp in depleted air!

…rise up from sweltering beach towel sunbathing to bolt across blistering foot-scorching sands. Dive into the shimmering ocean’s cooling waters.

…meditatively sit on a smooth protruding rock along the seashore. Close your eyes as crashing waves explode their exfoliating salt on your already sticky skin. Tune in to squawking seagulls soaring above the ocean’s roar. Open your eyes. Watch as they dive-bomb through the water’s surface for their favorite fare.

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…lay back on a fallen tree trunk within an autumn leaves-blanketed wood. Shhh! Listen to the rustlings of scampering squirrels playing chase, the distant call of a hawk for its mate, and the watchful doe with her fawn.

Or, feel

…the heat of summer’s sun on your skin,

…the soothing warmth of bath water or its sting on your sun-burned skin,

…melting ice cool your overheated body,

…chill-bumps,

…a mosquito bite.

Now, go back to one of these never experienced sports, a long forgotten sensation, or your favorite activity. In your mind, dwell there for an expanse of time, as the morning sun rises or evening’s sun sets, in your favorite season, alone or with a special someone. It’s your story. You’re the writer, director, cinematographer, and star.

Let your soul soar, often. It’s good for you.