untethered

It’s going to get a little heavy this post, so consider yourself forewarned…

I’ve never given much thought to breathing. It’s something that just kind of happens. My lungs take breath because my brain tells them to. Inhale… oxygen in. Exhale… carbon dioxide out. Except two weeks ago, on a sunny Tuesday November morning, breath didn’t happen. I had another episode of whatever this is that’s going on with me. And this one was very different than the last.

This time around was far worse than the first. I was alone, and by the time I realized that I needed help, I didn’t know who to call. And by the time I figured out which number to dial, I was no longer able to figure out how to use the phone. By the grace of God, I managed to call our office and someone answered. AH dropped everything and came home. By the time he arrived, the situation was quite dire. I’ll spare you the details because I simply can’t bear to write about them.

I’m still here to write this post, so obviously there was a happy ending. But I am suddenly very aware of this tender thread that suspends us between living and not living, between “here” and “there”. My situation has me thinking a great deal about how very loosely tethered we are to these lives of ours. By God’s grace, we remain anchored to this thing we call “life” or “living” by a nervous system that works day and night to keep us in harmony with the world around us. But when this doesn’t happen, the tether that binds us to life is cut and life ends.

I’ve never given the fragile nature of this tether much consideration. Life and living feel so tangible, so solid, so… guaranteed somehow. In the busyness of what goes on my in world every day, I’ve taken the gift of breath and and the continuity of life for granted. I think most of us probably do. Except now, awareness of breath and of this delicate filament of life force that keeps us here seems to be all I think about.

It’s easy to hold tightly to things in spite of this tenuous tether that connects us to our physical experience of living our lives. “My” job, “my” husband, “my” friends, “my” family, “my” house. We identify with – and sometimes cling to – these people, these labels, these identities, these things that we believe are “us” and “ours”. Truly, they are part of us. And each one contributes value to the the life of each person we share the planet with. But I think it’s easy to lose sight of one simple fact: these things aren’t ours. They aren’t us. And life doesn’t come with any guarantees.

I’ve been guilty of holding too tightly and taking things for granted, and for assuming that tomorrow will always come. I’m so very grateful for AH and our life together, and for our home and the refuge that we’ve created in that space. My family is a huge blessing and I’m so thankful for the closeness that we share. I’m proud of the career and business I’ve built. All of these things that are not me, and not mine… but somehow when you put them all together, they make up the content of my life.

What really matters? What’s most important? Staying alive. Staying alive is most important. I had another episode because I failed to understand after what happened in September that stress and busyness and fatigue are the end product of how I’m currently living my life. I am more important than any of the things that I have always believed to define me, and I can daily make choices that will take me to a different outcome. We all can.