I’m sitting here as I write in beautiful accomodation in glorious country farming landscape. The afternoon sun is streaming in warmly through the otherwise crisp winter’s clean, clear air. A dozen tiny wrens are chirping lyrically, which is the only outside noise other than a car driving past perhaps a couple of times a day. The gentle breeze breathes a sense of vibrant energy into the portrait. I’ve been reading an inspiring biography while listening to some classic tunes.
It is a stunning, peaceful, restorative, environment. I am so thankful for the generous hospitality here – and equally for those several others who’ve opened their homes since the smashed shoulder slapped a sudden stop on the Sabbatical two months back.
And I’m waiting. Waiting for several (competing) “live” conversations to culminate in work and an income. And waiting for that income to facilitate accomodation of my own. And waiting for that accomodation to form one of the cornerstones in writing a next chapter, and building a new life in the burned ashes of marriage broken and family lost. Having exhausted a key pathway and ruled out a few other options in that first domino of the work/income question, there’s a curious hiatus in my activity.
Not by design. At least not by my design. Not by my preference in any way, shape or form.
That waiting is received only with my bated breath, with impatient fidgeting, and with anticipation of launching myself at something as soon as that road ahead has a map and compass.
The “No Compromise” Keith Green biography I’m reading just now triggered a pondering thought about a key impact of the road trip forcing a change of (metaphorical) gears to slow down and feel the rhythm of the road rather than force my own pace. That thought naturally led to a comparison to how I landed afterwards, chasing after medical treatment for the arm, reconnecting with friends and colleagues, and starting the search for work. Although I can’t say the calendar has been full, it had nonetheless been a return with the energy of a metaphorical “bang” only matched by the literal equivalent that triggered said return.
Noticing that energy and contrast has been all the chastising I need.
In the same moment it occurred to me that the road trip perhaps has simply been the vehicle (dad joke – boom!boom!) to slow me down in preparation for the few weeks of convalescence. Perhaps it is this convalescence that is the “real” Sabbatical. Or at least the “Sabbatical – take two”.
I’m certainly conscious of the risk of running too far ahead and unloading on “the first option” rather than the best option. And in theory I’d pulled back from that by taking my foot off the accelerator (metaphorically, to be clear 🤪). But there’s a dissonance in allowing impatience into that picture. So perhaps I need to reframe, and posture into this hiatus with the same approach as for the road trip itself. Take two.
Perhaps that’s also a way to account for the trip’s unceremonious end, too. Maybe the value of the road trip had been achieved – an initial slowdown – and now the ask before me is to maintain that same open-handed, gently-hearted, curiosity-led willingness to let the road show the way (or at least the road’s Architect), back in Aus, as it was in Asia.
That’s quite a reframe. Might go for a walk in a minute to process. I’ll have to deal with a bit of “feeling guilty” about relying on others’ generosity while I Sabbath through the days and weeks.
Meantime, just quickly, the arm continues to heal apace. Every week – almost daily – there’s noticeable improvement by degrees. The one setback came 10 days ago at a physio appointment with Sam, who I was nagged into attending by a friend Alex. This is in addition to physio through the Box Hill (public) system, and I went more to quell the nagging than for any other reason (sorry, Alex!). It left me reeling a bit, however, as – for the first time since the accident two months prior – there was consideration not only of bone health but also of tendon health. Sam ultrasound scanned my shoulder, and has found that the main tendon is 90% torn, “hanging by a thread” of 1.5mm from the 1.5cm that should be supporting all left-arm lifting. The frightening part of that is that while I’ve been working on getting more movement and strength in my arm, it is exactly those exercises that could completely rupture the tendon. It sounds like that would have permanent consequences and be very difficult to repair surgically. So I’ve pulled right back on exercise, and look forward to a next appointment to check on progress. Eeesh.
By a mix of both explicit message or simply lack of response, I don’t appear any closer to anything more than (very) sporadic contact with family. That really matters so much more than anything else here, but won’t feature in the word count as a bit of “redaction” is required in the publishing of these private thoughts.
On another post-script note, I’d decided a day or so to write a “final” journal entry and close this “Ride For Hope” book, as the road trip is slipping into “history”. But this afternoon’s epiphany that perhaps I’m now in the “real Sabbatical” might put at least a short pause on that thought. I’ll percolate a bit.
Meantime, the road is calling again – but I’ll do a Hobbit and take it on foot today.