I lit a fire in our fireplace last night. Our first coolish night of the season. It seemed the right thing to do. I quickly picked up a log, carried it to the fireplace, squatted to lay the fire, and lit it.
What a simple thing.
It would not have been simple a couple of years ago.
My big self would not have bothered trying to start a fire at all. But if I had, I know how it would have gone.
I would have lost my breath retrieving the log, lost my balance lowering myself in front of the fireplace. I could not have held a squat, because the pressure of squatting would have made my eyes feel like they would pop out of my head.
My knees and feet couldn’t have taken my weight at those angles. I would have had to kneel, and would have worried about kneeling on that stone hearth on knees compromised and sore from carrying so much weight.
I forgot the matches, having to get back up to retrieve those, squatting a second time to light the fire. That would have brought on a round of colorful language had I tried. Or I might have given up entirely.
A simple thing. But I couldn’t do it simply.
I couldn’t tie my shoes comfortably, garden comfortably, groom my dogs comfortably. Picking stuff up off the floor, retrieving lost bits and pieces went undone.
Now that I can squat, I do, easily, with something like grace. I can lower myself with one leg if necessary, dropping and popping back up without a thought.
Except for today. Today I’m thinking about the many simple things I can do because the weight is gone, my blood pressure has lowered, and because I’ve grown strong again. I can do these many small things that allow me to care for my home and my animals, my family, myself. Small unamazing things.
Getting back your old moves? It’s precious and worth the work. Really it is.
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