Getting There From Here

http://miriadna.com/preview/walking-path

I’m sitting here on the eve of my 53^rd year, eating delicious salted chocolate (thank you Marcella, ma belle!), and watching Rafa Nadal weave his usual clay-court magic in Barthelona. Not a bad evening overall, I’m thinking, especially since the original plan involved standing in a rush line at one of tonight’s Hot Docs screenings, where it’s now steadily raining.

The tennis match plus the imminent birthday has me thinking about where I go from here. It might seem odd to say this about a sporting event, but watching tennis (which is the only professional sport I pay any attention to other than the Olympics) always reminds me of the discussions I've had with the wisest person I know. I used to wonder how the rollercoaster emotional arcs of a given match could have such a profound impact on its outcome. My wise friend explained that athletes at the top of their game are very evenly matched physically, so it’s often a powerful psychic toughness that wills them to victory despite what seem to be insurmountable physical difficulties. On the court, emotional dips clearly translate into leaden legs and slow reaction times—and hence into lost matches.

There’s much to ponder about the last year. It’s been a biggie, there’s no two ways about it. Six months ago, without warning, I lost my relationship. Within a month of that, and equally swiftly, I lost my mother. These two events knocked over the first of a chain of dominoes, the repercussions of which are still playing out. For much of this time, I have felt stunned and somewhat out-of-body, but I’ve also felt as though I’m racing breathlessly to accomplish—or maybe it’s fix, or perhaps save… something.

People keep saying things like, “You’ve got a lot on your plate,” which is certainly true. My mother’s sudden death meant that my dad, who is generally healthy but suffers from moderate vascular dementia as the result of a series of small strokes, needed to be moved immediately from the family home, which is an hour away from me, into some kind of temporary care facility. Once that happened, I had to find a more permanent solution before his allocated number of respite days ran out. The winter was a blur of visits to long-term care facilities and retirement homes of every stripe. I tried to maintain my freelance work, but I was so tired and had such difficulty focussing that it was nearly impossible, and I eventually gave up until I could get my dad settled.

And now I think he may be. He has been an official resident in a retirement home for the last two months, and seems happy and healthy there. Actually, he is much happier than I ever thought possible, considering. He seems to have blossomed in this latest stage of his life, keen to take on challenges and flexing his newly independent muscles. It’s been amazing and gratifying to see.

So yes, I’ve been landing some shots in this marathon match, and I’m grateful for that. But it’s that emotional factor that will tell whether I can hang in till the finals. I’ve just come back from my first real break in about a year from full-on, full-time eldercare duty, in the form of a week-long trip to New York City (more on that shortly, I hope). I knew the trip would be more of a change than a rest, but even when I got home, I didn’t slow down, or try to rest up from the vacation. I had a deadline shortly after I returned, and plunged into the research for that. Now THAT’S behind me, too, but my wheels are still spinning, my schedule is still packed, I’m still crazy tired, and I’m starting to feel a tad desperate.

I’m now thinking that maybe I’ve developed the unhealthy new habit of dancing as fast as I can. Worse, I suspect that what I’m chasing is not only illusory, it’s fuelled by my long-time companion, perfectionism, which has bedeviled me for almost as long as I can remember. Maybe it’s time to take care of someone a little closer to home for a while. Maybe I should cut myself some slack. I do know I need to remind myself that there’s no such thing as getting something done perfectly, and to focus first on getting the task done, and then on getting it done to the best of my ability with the resources available at the moment. Then I need to move on.

This is, I think, how the Rafa Nadals of the world keep stocking their shelves with championship trophies. Rafa hits one shot at a time, keeps his eye on the ball, tries not to think about the point he just lost, and never gives up. That’s how he plays, that’s how he gets where he’s going, and that’s what he’s taught me. Now I just have to keep it in mind as I step up to the tape for my own next round.