I will be forty in less than two months. I have struggled with my health for over eighteen years. The past four have been particularly challenging and my ever-shrinking world feels suffocating.
Most of what I knew and how I defined myself has disappeared and I am left facing a very exposed and very naked version of myself and I am terrified that what is left is not enough.
The last four years have been spent singularly focused on trying to get well and “getting my life back.” I’ve run out of next steps, money, and very nearly my faith that things can be different. I wake up in the morning with a sinking heart, once again returned to a reality I can’t escape, and have no idea what to do with the day looming in front of me. Often, I am too ill to do what used to be the familiar, and the walls of my room resemble all too much the limitations I experience in my continued existence. Something has to change.
I need a direction. I need to accept this life I am living. And I need to find meaning.
So, I have decided to learn to draw.
I have NO IDEA how this all ties together, other than that the idea of learning to draw carries an excitement and pull that is a rare experience for me these days. So, without any other discernible guideposts to follow at present, (and maybe some desperation), I am going to embrace this pull and see where it takes me.