The truth is that I love to write. When I sit down to compose my thoughts on paper, my mind and my heart have a chance to think, to align themselves and divide themselves where appropriate. My day comes into focus, slowing down to digest the moments that can fly by without my appreciation. The truth is that I live in pain every day. Some days are better than others. Some days I bare that pain in silence, sometimes I am grumpy from the pain, taking it out on those I love most and sometimes I ignore the pain, forgetting how my body feels without an intruder. To those who see me most days, my smile hides what can be surging under the surface, my stride down the street shows no sign of the tornado of hurt in my back. For the most part, I am thankful for this gift, to be free from looks of pity or questions asking thoughtfully how I am doing. But there are some days where the isolation is overwhelming, when I wish I had a huge sign on my body which says, disclosure - I am in pain, please excuse the bitchiness and come back later. But each day, I learn something new about myself, about my limitations and about my potential. Today I swung my very own golf club. I hit the ball without embarrassing myself and my body actually twisted as best as it could. I felt a little like the Tin Man but I did it. While some swings felt awkward and ouchy, when I swung and the ball went soaring without much effort, I felt a rush of excitement. I mean, the pain would have to wait, I was playing golf! Tonight, as I lie on the floor to try and calm the aches, I push the moment back into my head of standing on the golf range in between my mother and my brother as the sun shone through the blue sky. How lucky am I? The truth is that I played golf. The truth is that I have people in my life to share that moment with and still love me even after we laughed and cried from my slight un-ladylike mood that ensued tonight. That's the honest and blessed truth.
