Listening is one thing …

This past Saturday, I did something I have never done before. I truly respected the boundaries of my body.

I had caught a nasty cold in London last week and brought it back to Berlin Friday where we were supposed to leave for Bologna on Saturday. As I woke up Saturday morning, I felt dizzy even lying down. So I stayed home.

It’s not the first time I have cancelled plans because of illness, of course. But I have always taken the signals sent by my body as optional until they were not. If I could physically move, I would. I have never really heeded the subtler messages, the this-could-turn-into-pneumonias, the this-hurts-but-it’s-not-debilitating-yets. I remember a physical therapist telling me that if I could bear the pain, I technically could run marathons with a heel-spur. And so I did. Let’s just say, it didn’t get any better.

Saturday morning, I felt that familiar tug-of-war in my brain. I could technically move. A cold is not serious. My body should be able to carry out the plans of my brain. I felt the start of that familiar anger directed at my body when it gives out. “What’s your problem,” I wanted to ask it. “How bad can this really be?”

But something had changed. A blurring of lines between my body and mind. A gratefulness for all it has done for me, for all we have done together. A recognition that my body is also me, and I needed rest.

This seems to be my primary lesson for the year. I am grateful for that too.