Confounded

I’m missing my rebound—that small spark that shows up and propels me into starting over, trying again, taking another approach—I can’t find mine. I don’t know if I lost it somewhere…probably between the paper towels aisle and the Magnolia section at Target. Maybe I outgrew it? Perhaps I didn’t water it enough, and it shrank, shriveled, and blew away. What happened to mine?

Kids have an amazing bounce back. When they’re learning to walk, and they stumble, they quickly stand back up, stabilize and take another step. When they’re learning to eat by themselves, they stick their fingers into all the holes in their little faces until they connect the idea of food, taste, and mouth. They’re ricocheting geniuses rebounding, instantly, naturally, heroically.

As children get older, their timing might be slower, but they still recover and try again—anything new is seen as a challenge to conquer. It’s as if conquering is intimately intertwined with confidence. Anything new to me now just makes me tired. I’m tired a lot it seems.

Is recovering all about focus? I’m not sure, I can’t think about it now, my drink is cooling, and my yogurt is getting warm—oh, and I have to call the pharmacy to refill my Potassium—and it is Friday night, what do I want to go and do with my husband? What’s playing in the movie theater? Where should we go for dinner? Focus can’t be why I can’t rebound, can it?

Motivation to get something, go somewhere, and be something may have something to do with the ability to start over. Redo might equal goals. I used to have those—I used to think of myself as a very goal oriented person, I had to be to get anything done. Though most of my goals back then, revolved around my kids, their schedules, and the lack of time on any given clock. But was that resolve or habit?

The only clock I use these days is on my wrist, and I use it to countdown how many steps I’ve walked in one day—and if I don’t get in my ten thousand steps? Well, I don’t sweat it.

I wonder, is stick-to-it-iveness ignorance to failure? Is it connected to forgetfulness, as in, the spark happens once the memory of failure fades? Maybe that’s it—I kind of hope that’s the case. If it’s forgetfulness, then I have nothing to work on—I can’t start forgetting! Okay, okay, that’s a weak comparison—a stretch.

Is my own rigidness the reason I don’t like to try again? Am I so wrapped up in my immediate mood, my right-now-or-never-ness I’m afraid of pulling a rebound muscle? Maybe I have a muscle strain right now, as I speak! Maybe it’s merely taking a vacation—on a mental spring break, or I’m in try- again Rehab and only now realize it.

Whatever the case, I’m missing my can-do attitude. I’ve worn out my do-over. I’ve forgotten how to approach the same old-same old differently. I guess I could look for it—retrace my steps, return to Target and walk down the paper towel aisle and on to Magnolia…but wouldn’t that mean I was, in fact, starting over?

 

 

 

 

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