I Cycle, So What?

Up and down. Flip flop. Zero to 60. Whatever you want to call it, I will announce to the world in a loud clear voice I am not the same woman every day. Or at any given time during the same day. It's often maddening, for I would much prefer to be stable and happy all the time. Who wouldn't? Alas, that is just not the way it is, though. Once I got to thinking about it I realized maybe, just maybe, this is not such a bad thing. Because quite frankly everything in this world cycles. The earth cycles around the sun giving us day and night, months and seasons. The moon cycles from round to a sliver and its gravitational pull cycles the tide from high to low. Humans cycle their life around these forces large enough to insert their power over our world. Hell even the washing machine cycles from swish to spin.

Popular opinion of the day strives to override the incessant madness from all this cycling. Go to bed at the same time each night. Wake up at the same time each morning. Eat five small meals a day to keep that blood sugar from crashing up and down. Eliminate the cycling and exist at an even keel. Allow the chaos of change to ensue all around while tucked in a ball of stable, expected living. Good advice, don't get me wrong, but God I am bored already! Yes these things may be beneficial but what about joy? Spontaneity? Excitement at the unknown? Passion? Being a little bad once in a while and breaking the rules? I am beginning to believe these are far more important than given credit for.

Were we supposed to give all those things up because we got sick? I sure did. The unexpected kicked me up one side the street and down the other. I couldn't adapt. There was no roll with the punches or go with the flow for this girl. Spontaneity? Ha! Just the word alone made me hurt. I didn't have joy and the only passion I felt was anger at my illness. But I wasn't sticking to a schedule either. So I flogged myself for years because I believed keeping carefully constructed order was the key to Fibromyalgia management. It didn't work. For the life of me I cannot mush my zest for surviving life into an expected routine. I don't have the discipline or inclination. Some people do, but not me. Finally a month before my 36th birthday I have gleaned enough wisdom, and hindsight, to realizing despite all this cycling I am making progress. Getting the Fibro beast managed. Making my life liveable again. So what if some days I wake up and run a mile and other days I can barely get myself from bed to couch. Life is a cycle. Like everything else. A cycle.

Thanks for joining,

Leah