Part 4: Every Way Down Leads Back to the Heart
MindfulMarch Community Story Special
As I picked my way back to the car, it hit me. This was how I would move forward for the time being. Not knowing, but being open to trying new methods. Not needing to leave everything behind, and instead being ready to explore new avenues to access the most important parts of what I’d loved, and what brought me peace. If my day on Irish Hill proved anything, the path forward was not going to be straight-forward.
On the way up, I kept looking back to assess and re-assess what I’d need to ski down. And when I did go downhill, I took plenty of zig-zagging detours into the woods to slow my pace, and avoid steeper parts I knew would be too hazardous. Allowing myself to be open to something different than the pursuit of exhilaration I’d pursued for nearly my whole life was the biggest risk I took that day. It marked a turn toward seeking what I hope will bring me joy and love, and at the same time always checking as I go deeper to make sure I’ve covered my back. And once I’m there, accepting that my path forward (or down!) might not be how I, or anyone else, did things before.
Throughout the past two years of waxing and waning symptoms, my growing capacity for awareness has helped me learn to live with not just a chronic physical condition, but also chronic uncertainty. In the end, the answer to how my cross-country skiing intention went sideways was so simple I couldn’t see it at first. And it applies to so much at this stage of life after my injury, and maybe yours too.
When I started out this winter, I simply didn’t know what I wanted, or needed to do next. And as meditation shows us, trying to “fix” uncertainty— in my case, resisting where I was, in the moment— just creates more suffering. I still don’t know what I want, but in the woods that day, I made a measure of peace with this unknown quality.
This is the uncomfortable gestation of growth, of living life like an experiment. You make your best guess at what to try, within the limits of safety, and go forth and make a mess— without attachment to the outcome being perfect, or what defines you, or what you’ll be doing forever. The answer is in letting go of the past without a firm grip on what the future looks like or holds.
It’s incredible how much has changed in the last two years, and has continued to change, just since I started to write this. The further I go into this experience, the more I see that much like yoga, I’m not just exploring the mountains, or the woods. I’m exploring myself. This is an unfolding that couldn’t have happened without my injury, or without the awareness I’ve cultivated through my meditation and yoga practices.
On the snow, or off, I’ve begun to recognize with clarity the moments when things get too steep or fast, and without disappointment or a feeling of missing out, I slow down and alter my approach. The biggest joy in this shift is witnessing how taking action from a place of self-care can feel just as expressive, vibrant and fulfilling as any of the external measures I’ve judged myself against in the past.
These are the first steps toward loving myself, and this new life, in a deeper way than I ever have before. And you know what? The more I invest in holding that space for myself, “limitations” included, the deeper my experience of connection with, and gratitude for, the people, places and experiences that mean so much to me.
I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t terrifying to take these flattering, flailing strides into the unknown. In the words of my former therapist and yoga teacher, “it’s a practice, not a perfect.” I don’t always get it “right,” and that’s ok. Each time I inch forward into uncertainty, each time I recognize risk, and choose to put my health and personal values above my pre-injury identity, I transform the fear of not knowing what comes next into a new benchmark of growth and liberation.
Finding the path toward living life after a TBI or concussion will be different for everyone, much like how these injuries and their impacts are so varied. Yet we all have the potential to open up to new possibilities. Meditation has been a key foundation that’s allowed me to stand in the moment and not be swept away in my emotions, thoughts and symptoms. I hope something in this story resonates with your journey, and you find a similar benefit from this practice.
Jesse Huffman is a freelance writer and video producer based in Vermont.
@manhuff | http://www.jessehuffman.com