Sunrises and Hope
I have always been an early riser. Years of living a agricultural life precondtioned me to be up before dawn. As a teenager, I was up before sunrise to tend to the animals and other chores. It was then I learned the joy of quiet mornings and peaceful sunrises.
It feels like a moment to reflect on the coming day even as I am overwhelmed with memory. It is the moment of the day where all is quiet.
I live with chronic pain, so mornings are also the time I am in the least amount of pain. By evening, my head, neck, and back are screaming. In the morning, I have hope that I can get much accomplished. It doesn’t always turn out that way, but I always have hope.
That is the problem with big plans and reality. I plan to accomplish things, but pain always has other ideas. Some people learn to live with their pain and lead fairly normal lives. I blame myself for not being able to accomplish the same.
I don’t think people talk enough about the guilt people with chronic pain feel. This is compounded when that pain has disabled you. You ask yourself why you aren’t more productive. Billions of people manage to live their days in pain and still getting things done, but you are unable to even get up from your chair.
I often sit and kick myself as being weak. Part of that is that we are often brought up to believe that our worth is measured in what we do. It is also true that the world doesn’t often see hidden disabilities. I may have a day where I am basically non-functional, but I still feel like I am doing something wrong.
This is especially true when it comes to finances. For most of my life, I have been a financial object for my family. Now, I wake up with no energy for the day ahead sometimes. I can’t even shower, let alone go to a job. Still, every morning I watch the sunrise and hope today will be different.
I want to do everything I can. I want to be productive. I want to look at something and say, yes, I can do that. I want to help any number of causes. I want to be able to walk to the library. I want to be able to drive myself to the doctor. In short, I want a normal life.
I don’t have a normal life, though. Some things I will never be able to do again. That hastens my dissatisfaction with my circumstance. Sure, I would love to be successful writer and maybe make enough money to help out. That may never happen. I may spend the rest of my life between moments of pain and agony. At least I have the sunrise and a little hope.