Every day I awaken knowing that the sand in the hourglass of my thirties has almost run through. I've been moving through my last days of this decade with a deeper sense of awareness. It feels like the completion of a journey, and I want to know that I am wiser at the end of it than I was at the beginning. At times over the past year I have taken stock of the events of the past decade, but I have not spent this week reflecting like that. I've been thinking more about the state of my own self-awareness, and how I interact with the world around me, and the intersection of the two.
A week ago, not quite knowing why, I began to eschew some comforts like wine and cheese. I've been feeling instinctively that though these days are not a time of melancholy, they are a time of deepening into myself. I have not become puritanical, but I've wanted to drape this final week in a different cloak. A prayer shawl, perhaps, rather than my usual daily garment. My cups have filled with water, coffee, and tea. My bowls with broccoli soup, salad, winter citrus, and spiced popcorn.
The discipline of body is not unusual for me. I tend to eat consciously--sometimes for health, sometimes for pleasure--, and move my limbs often. A month ago, however, I took a spill and my daily running routine has had to stop. I suspect a slight sacrum fracture, or something with my S.I. joint. After giving time to heal, I have found running causes me pain but only after I stop, and the pain lingers for two days. This week I have appreciated my yoga practice and spinning workouts even more than usual, and am grateful for simple lunchtime walks. They are a reminder that my back pain is not because of age, but because I took a clumsy step up a curb, and that, if anything, I fall less frequently now than I did in my youth.
Strangely, my car has also stopped. I was in a gentle-but-car-damaging accident a few weeks ago. The last two weeks it has been at a body shop which sends me daily photos of the repair progress. I tend to draw connections between things, so of course have wondered about the symbolism of both my car and my own body being in repair right now. Six years into ownership, I paid off the car in November. It's got 40,000 miles on the odometer and it's only ever going to be called utilitarian, but I hope to have it for a while. Same with my body--though I wouldn't only call it "utilitarian". It gives me pleasure, too. Still, same with the car, I hope to have it for a while.