When Even The Plan of No Plans Becomes a Non-Plan

"The best laid schemes o' mice an' men / Gang aft a-gley."

- Robert Burns

The above quote is one I have returned to often in the past four years. I am an obsessive planner, and I often have to remind myself not to count on the world aligning with my latest schemes. (Which I suppose brings me to another similar quote by John Lennon. "Life is what happens when you're busy making other plans."

My last post was a long rambling beast about how I was going to deal with the situation of having nothing new to do in 2024. It was such a beast I can't imagine anyone read it to the end (although as of writing this post, it has 34 views). 

The TL:DR of the post was I had nothing exceptional to look forward to. Life was a big blank slate. I had no plan. I was going to have to learn to embrace uncertainty and take life as it comes. My path was to simply live one day at a time and take the best possible care of myself. I would be mindful, be healthy, exercise and eat right, and try to detach from my constant expectations of how things should go. The word I used was "thrive".

That didn't mean I had no plans. I never start a year without trying to have some kind of goal in mind. I had the thrive thing all figured out. I was going to take care of my back problems. I was going to take better care of my diet in hopes of reducing pain. My insurance gave me a free year of Apple Fitness+ and I had a whole new set of workouts to look forward to. Plus my insurance company would give me money for exercising a certain number of minutes every day with the amount capped at $300. Who couldn't use an extra $300 for doing something I do every day anyway? Kevin bought me an Apple Watch as an early Valentine's Day present to help me track it all and I became obsessed with my rings. (I now apologize to anyone I ever made fun of for being obsessed with fitness trackers.) I put together anti-inflammatory meal plans. I set aside time every day for meditation. I limited my Facebook time to fifteen minutes a day, setting an actual timer when I logged into it. I was taking 2024 one day at a time, but I knew what I would be doing every day.

*Thud* *Crack*

Life changes in an instant, so the old cliché goes. It was an ordinary Saturday ride. I was riding Riddle across the indoor ring. I swerved to avoid a child taking a lesson. The turn was sharp. Riddle lost her balance and tripped. I somersaulted over her head, hit my head, and then I hit my shoulder badly breaking my collarbone. I have been riding most of my life and it took me this long to be injured this badly. I should consider myself lucky I rode horses for so much of my life and yet it took this long to have a major injury. I should consider myself lucky my helmet did it's job and I had no TBI. I should consider myself lucky that I am left handed and I fell on my right shoulder. 

Maybe I was lucky, but I was no longer thriving.

(How could I have done things differently? That Apple Watch I became a slave to informed me two minutes before the fall that my exercise ring was closed. I should have dismounted then and finished my ride. I kept going and look what happened.)

My Clearing Season became even clearer in the course of one day. Here I had this plan, this "path" of doing small, healthful tasks every day. I was going to concentrate on staying in shape, taking care of my back pain, practicing mindfulness and eating better. It took one fall to prevent me from doing even that much.

For the first week or two, I fell into a new state. I was partially stoned on pain meds. I spent most of my waking hours indulging in the habits I tried so hard to avoid. My designated fifteen minutes a day on Facebook went back to the old standby of picking up the tablet and scrolling whenever I sat down (to be kind to myself, I will say that while I was so housebound, it was my only connection to the outside world). I was back to indulging my addictions of scrolling Poshmark and Pinterest (and some money was spent I admit). I entertained myself more with YouTube videos than with books. My sleep schedule was not a schedule at all. I went to bed when I felt like it and slept as long as I felt like it. I didn't have much motivation for meditation.

What happened to that anti-inflammatory diet plan? Well, thanks to my wonderful friends and family, I was able to enjoy two boxes of chocolate, three pizzas, six pints of ice cream, and a basket of snacks from Harry & David to get through the tough times.  Also, I couldn't cook anymore. I have been surviving on regular deliveries from CookUnity and local takeout. Everything I eat has to be stuff I can eat with one hand (unless I want to make Kevin cut my food for me, and I have limits as to what I will ask of him). I admit there are times when my dinner could be cut into smaller bites. I give myself permission to not eat like a lady. (It's not as if I was ladylike to begin with.)

I never craved a glass of wine more than when I was on daily pain meds and couldn't have one. I went to the liquor store after my last nerve block pill was consumed.

I think I learned an important lesson four years ago. I learned I can get through these periods of enforced non-activity. I know "this too shall pass" as they say. I can be grateful for what I have and to find joy where I can. Unlike 2020, I was at least able to have visitors - two-legged and four-legged - while I convalesced. I often feel restless (it drives Kevin nuts when I stand up and start obsessively pacing the room for long periods of time), but I still have a job to do and that keeps me somewhat grounded.

I'm slowly working my way back to normal now. I wake up on weekdays at 5AM the way I did before the fall. I also try to be more consistent with my bedtime, although I fall asleep as if I were a grade school kid with a school night bedtime. I still work from home every day, but I am trying to make my morning routine closely resemble those of office days so I can more easily make the transition when the time comes.

I also am back to designating Facebook time. I choose a time a day to go online. I set a time and limit myself to thirty minutes (I found fifteen to be a bit extreme). It's working well. I think I see all I need to see in that amount of time.

I can't exercise the way I used to, but I can walk. I would love to walk outside more, but it's hard to wear a coat and a sling if it's cold. On cold days I walk the hallways of my building. I walk across the hallway, up the stairs, across the next hallway, and up the next set up stairs. I zigzag up and down all six floors. Four times is two miles. If it's warm enough to not wear a heavy coat, I walk around the harbor or through Orienta. 

I can't do hardcore strength exercises, but I can do conditioning exercises for my legs. I can't use weights or do anything high-impact, so my focus is to prevent as much major muscle loss as possible. I do exercises like plies and standing leg raises and lunges. My dance training has helped a lot with this. In fact, the strength and balance I learned from dance has been instrumental in helping me use my leg strength and balance in situations where my arms are useless - so much so I sent a thank-you text to my teacher on Valentine's Day.

I can't ride, but if it's a warm enough day, I can take a car ride to the barn and spend some time with Riddle and my barn friends. I am dying to ride again, but that will have to happen in its own time. I am sometimes tempted to ask Kevin to saddle up Riddle and let me sit on her while he leads her, but I realize that would be foolish. I might be able to get on with one arm, but getting off would be impossible. I also shouldn't risk falling again.

I don't know if I can return to dance before the semester is over. Maybe I will be able to emcee the recital in June regardless. I worry that if I do go back to class, I will have fallen so far behind and forgotten the routines that I will drag the rest of the class down. This is one that will remain a big question mark.

The blessing and the curse of all this is I can't do theater. I am still on the fence if I should retire from theater or not. Can I resist the lure of the stage? Do I want to get my hopes of about being in another play only to suffer more disappointment and humiliation? Can I still hold on to a belief that maybe sometimes I'm castable? This injury makes it a moot point. Maybe during this restful time I can come up with ideas for activities to replace it. I suppose if I really wanted to go back to theater, I would practice singing more. I'm not doing that (unless you count my return to Thursday Night Karaoke at La Casa).

It has been miraculous, but despite the less-than-optimal eating plan and greatly reduced exercise, I haven't gained any weight. I have lost some of my strength, but I still feel fairly fit. My clothes still fit me (plus I have been able to keep all the cute stuff I bought on Poshmark while trapped on the couch stoned on pain meds). 

Friday marks a month since my surgery. Next week I start physical therapy. Other than that, I have no expectations of anything. Life will be what it will be.  I learned even the smallest plans, the lightest expectations, can be quickly vanquished. Spring is here. The days will grow longer and warmer. Life will go on. I will have to continue to wait and see what it brings me.