How you do anything, is how you do everything. I don’t know if that’s a direct quote, but the idea is from a Buddhist teacher who wrote a book with a similar title, which I also cannot remember exactly. What I do remember is reading that idea and how it resonated.
So I had surgery on Wednesday, was home that night, was in a lot of pain Thursday, barely remember Friday, but know I felt much, much better and by Saturday was over it. I don’t mean physically, I mean I was over it, as in – we did the whole surgery thing, now let’s get on with life, this has becoming tiresome. When I woke up on Saturday and still felt like I’d been hit broadside by a semi, I thought – I should feel well enough to get up and do things. Then I had to remind myself, it had only been two full days since I woke from the anesthesia and that this was the third day and I would feel better, eventually. With that thought in mind I wandered around and went back to bed. Sunday I was more active and yesterday I was a whirlwind of activity, comparatively speaking. But I did have to take a nap at one point and had a brutal headache. Today, determined to just “act as if” all was well, I woke with everyone else, tried to do my part in getting the children ready for school, did a load of laundry, and now, sitting here, feel exhausted again, and, it must be said, tired of feeling tired.
How you do anything is how you do everything.
So the bad news is I’m impatient, but that’s also the good news because my impatience pushes me to be active, which is a good thing after surgery as the worst thing one can do is give in to the feeling of just wanting to stay in bed… forever.
Like so many things, emotions tend to seep into everything. When I feel upbeat and full of energy everything takes on a brighter hue, people seem friendlier, minor delays and the vicissitudes of life don’t have a lasting impact. But the opposite is also true. So this morning while getting Emma ready for her school bus she said she wanted to play a game.
“Okay. What game do you want to play?” I asked.
“Imagine that game,” she answered.
“How do you play it?” I asked.
She then began to sing an Elmo song entitled – “Imagine That” and began to script the dialogue between Zooey and another Sesame Street character.
“Now we know what the – imagine that – game is,” Richard remarked.
Yep. And here’s the thing, this isn’t terrible. There’s nothing inherently wrong with her choosing to do this during the ten minutes she had left before her school bus arrived. But I felt disappointed. I had hoped she wanted to play a game. You know, a game where we actually interacted. But that’s not what Emma had in mind. And it’s okay. She wanted to sing her song and so she did.
Impatience. Acceptance. Impatience. Acceptance.
How you do anything is how you do everything.
For more on Emma’s journey through a childhood of autism, go to: Emma’s Hope Book
