When the accident happened, it seemed so earth-shattering that I overestimated its impact. At first I couldn’t guess when I’d get back to the office, or how long it would take me to make all the other adjustments anticipated. It seemed that my life ‘before the fall’ would differ dramatically from life afterwards. As a result, I fantasized that maybe my recovery, which I thought would consume me longer, might serve as a good rehearsal for retirement, as I’d need to seek other diversions if I weren’t going to the office.
And indeed, it was a bit like that for a few days, as I devoted myself to activities I rarely have time for — I spent a morning applying wood oil to my bamboo counter-tops and an afternoon culling seven cartons of books from my sagging shelves. I practiced my Christmas ukulele, and I painted a long-planned watercolor picture of my house.
But things reverted to the status quo with surprising rapidity. Rather than consume me utterly for days, my recovery very quickly faded into the background of my life. Yes, I’m still hyper-aware of the hardware store in my mouth; the liquid diet is a bore and a pain, and being unable to clean the inner surfaces of my teeth, my tongue, etc. becomes an increasingly unpleasant obsession — but I’m a grown-up; I don’t complain much; I have a job to go to and chores to perform, so somehow, life goes on. What free time? What retirement activities?
Funny thing, I don’t know whether this is a plus or a negative. I guess adaptable organisms generally survive better than those who aren’t able to acclimate to change, so it’s a beneficial trait, evolutionarily speaking. But do we always want to return to normal as quickly as possible? A different sort of benefit accrues when we consider milestones thoughtfully rather than racing past them at top speed. I remember the days just after 9/11, when we all swore we would never take our serene lives for granted again — a commendable aspiration; how long did it last?
So, not only did I miss out on my retirement rehearsal; I also forfeited an equally important life lesson. I rushed myself back to my routines because I was scared not to — if I didn’t get right back on the horse that threw me, I might become paralyzed by my fears. But perhaps in my haste, I never fully felt or processed the qualms that assailed me in the first days. I might have been better served to sit with those fears just a bit, and to learn that I could master them.
Linnetontheleaf 
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