And, as the Taoists told us millennia ago, ending creates beginning. Creates it. There can be no beginning until the end ... ends.
Had a "I'm gonna do this, dammit" moment today... I did some laundry, then (here's the "dammit" part) took it, somehow, outside and hung it on the line.
Did some very spectacular Harold Lloyd-esque bounces off the line that I wasn't hanging things from, but nothing hit the ground (including, fortunately, me) and everything is currently hanging happily on the line to dry.
As I was in the backyard, I saw... the workbench that I haven't used since The Diagnosis. The saw that I had bought about a decade ago to build cabinetry with, and that I had built some lovely bookshelves with, but which I haven't felt safe to use, haven't felt able to manhandle lumber onto it or even to the backyard to work with it, since The Diagnosis. The backstop I had used as an safety behind-the-target arrow catcher, that I haven't used since I've been afraid to use the bow, fearing it would push me over backwards; or that I'd simply fall over trying to plant my feet or stand up, even before I drew the bow; or that I'd simply fall over walking to the shooting line.
And let's be truthful: The Diagnosis didn't stop me from using these things, my motor skills had been askew for two years prior to The Diagnosis; but at this temporal distance, it's as good a hook as any, time-wise, upon which to hang The Big Change.
These things have pretty much left my life, but I haven't gotten rid of them, because I'm hoping that one day, Things Will Maybe Be Better and I'll be able to use them again.
Now, that's certainly probabilistically true, but... not much sign of it happening anytime soon.
Or ever. At least not right now.
A scholar of philosophy said that the final creature to fly out of Pandora's box, Hope, is not the cheery little fairy everyone likes to think that it is. He said, it's the worst of the demons. The demon that lets you pretend that a magical fix will happen and Everything Will Be Better and you don't have to do anything to make that happen.
I'm having to deal with the truth that "ending creates beginning" in so many areas of my life, right now. There are some things that I really, really want to be over, so I can move on; and yet, I'm afraid to let them end. Really, really afraid... even though I know, I know, that keeping them will not only prevent the "new beginning" that I hope for, the keeping of these things will make matters worse, and worse, and worse.
Something we M.S.ers are tasked to deal with all the time is the need to let go of The Way It Used To Be. Because it's in our face. Every day. Things aren't The Way They Used To Be, and they never will be again. Because even if The Disease were suddenly removed from us, we've been changed; and we aren't what we Used To Be. And never will be.
And yet, we--I--hold desperately, desperately, on to the dream, the memory, of The Way It Used To Be. And it was never ours to begin with, because it was never real. It was just a dream. Our waking dream; but a dream.
Time to open my hands and receive the gift of Metal. To perceive and experience quality; "to receive the pure chi of the heavens," the specific job of one of the Metal officials.
And to grieve. To face the truth.