Author: Daniela Ginta Page 82 of 99

When I moved to Vancouver 13 years ago I was told I am moving to the most beautiful city in the world. I was excited even though I believe that beauty really is in the eye of the beholder. Still, Vancouver is spectacular. But I was also warned again and again that it gets wet here. On my way to the bus stop, on the bus and during the two and a half years of school many sighed and shook their heads chastising the rain again and again. Then my boys came along and I always took them for walks in the rain and I remember this particular day when Tony’s boots got filled to the brim with rainwater from a big puddle that he played in and I had to take them off and throw the water out and it was cold and wet and funny in a bedraggled chilly way. Rain never had a negative connotation for me. I have always been a rain lover. Aside from other idealistic views of life that I proudly own, I mean.Corny view? Do as you please with it, I am telling the truth.

Rain meant slosh and wet shoes and wet clothes too in elementary school. It meant yucky when I had to feed the chickens – city life with backyard chickens was how I grew up – or take my dog for a walk. Rain at my aunt’s farmhouse in the countryside meant “oh, you can’t imagine the muddiness and if you dare you won’t even get close to imagine what it’s like to feed pigs and ducks.” In university it meant wet-and-muddy-to-my-knees jeans that would not get dry until the next day because my dorm room did not have a dryer. Rain meant find a way to deal with it or else. Rain means wet everything and grey skies and puddles occasionally covered with enough muck and leaves that you miss them for solid ground and you step smack dab in the middle and hear the muckiness gurgle a mischievous gurgle as it seeps into your no longer dry shoes. Rain also means long days of great writing and realizing again and again that the green around me would not exist if no rain would fall. Rain means a good sleep with drops playing tag on my windows all night and the long slicky sound of tires waking me up in the morning. Rain means that I’m alive.

So you see, rain can’t get me. And you can tell me all you want that rain makes one’s mood slump and fall to the ground like a disgraced tired goose and I’ll stubbornly reply that I cannot change the way nature works. I can get myself rain boots, rain jackets or an umbrella if I need it, all luxuries for many around the world, come to think of it, I can step around puddles carefully and if I feel like it, I can make myself some soup, tea or coffee or hot chocolate and warm up. I can wait it out or go out and play. But still, I can’t change it. I can only change the way I look at it. And that is that I can’t be bothered. Rain can’t get me. Well, aside from wet I mean.

“The moon was so beautiful this morning at Jericho beach, you should’ve seen that…” The man, in his late sixties or so, had track pants on and a red rain jacket. I don’t know him but that is not important. We are the first customers in the neighborhood grocery store this morning.
“I saw the moon last night driving back from Squamish, it was very beautiful,” I tell him. He tells me about the old mining town in Squamish, and that his parents were Croatian, settled in BC way before he was born.
I wish I could’ve stayed and talk more because there is something so utterly fascinating about talking moon and simple joy with complete strangers but the morning rushes me on like a flood so I leave. Behind me I hear the man talking about the magnificent moon to the cashier. The cash register goes “ding” and the sound plops over the man’s words like a pillow.

Later on I go for a walk to the bank with my two newly appointed functional legs and I almost feel like stopping just about everyone passing by me just to tell them about my walking bliss. The sidewalk is oozing sunlight and I am wading through it up to my eyelids. Mornings like this remind me of simplicity and how uncomplicated gratefulness should be. The moon hides in the soft blue that’s spread all over like a blanket. After all it’s been up all night, no? Silly pun? Why, there’s some giggling joy in that too.

I’m back. It’s been a while. Not that I did not have topics to write about. But a lot of life happened in the meantime. I took big bites, rarely had time or knew how to chew, so I mostly gulped. A lesson in itself. If I try to categorize everything into good and bad, I’d have to sit down and think which is which but that’d wrong from my point of view, you see. I believe there’s something to learn from everything so I am.

I’ve learned that boundaries are something each person needs in order to be complete. It goes hand in hand with speaking one’s truth. More about this in a future post. I’ve learned that adding smiles to every day life will make life smile back in unexpected ways. A matter of trust I’d say. I’ve learned that there are people in my life that are worth all those smiles and then some.

I am one week away from bidding farewell to my leg companion. It’s been a while, five weeks. I bought new socks to dress up for the occasion. Literally. I walk cast-free and without a limp, most times anyway, and I cherish all my bones with rediscovered awareness and gratitude. It’s sunny outside and it smells of spring, it does. Have you noticed that early mornings are brighter? If my words were groundhogs this post is where it should be. Time-wise I mean.

I am almost three weeks away from being cast-free. I can put weight on my left foot – with full permission from my doctor – and I am officially crutch-free since my last orthopedic appointment when I got to see the X-ray film of my formerly broken bone. The fracture looks like an upside down V and healing as we speak. Mind-boggling to think how bone-building materials fill the space between new cells helping my bone heal. Yes, the nerd inside just waved at you. Wave back? Well, never mind.

Over the last four weeks of cast existence I’ve acquired essential knowledge about self-preservation. Sounds pretentious but it really is not. As I said so many times, everything happens for a reason. In this case the bones broke for me to learn about mindfulness and teach my boys about it too. I’ll explain.

I am very active, always been that way. Taking what I thought to be unnecessary time off to give my body time to heal after a light injury was never something I believed in. At the same time, I eat very healthy and do a lot of good things for my body. The best way to describe my approach would be “healing on the go”. If I gave my body all the resources it needed to rebuild itself, I thought, then nothing else was needed. The missing link is quite obvious: Resting. Not out of weakness but because slowing down and resting are part of healing. At the beginning of this I stubbornly refused to accept that and paid the price in pain and swelling. Inability to move the way I expected to made me both frustrated and scared. Closed ones and strangers alike encouraged me to look at the good side of slowing down. I did it, out of fear of not being able to recover completely. At the same time admitting to feeling better when I did. I rested more and then one day I stepped on my cast and it didn’t hurt. And I actually pondered whether I should do it or not instead of doing it recklessly. Something inside felt right because there was no pain. I continued to do it cautiously still until I got the doctor’s approving nod. He told me I can walk without the cast when I’m inside. So I did. I limp, which is normal after having a cast, but it doesn’t hurt. But walking with a limp is the norm now unless I think as I walk. That’s right, I have to think if I am to walk without limping. I cannot walk fast if I am not to limp. Every step is pondered upon and the seemingly simple act of walking is nothing short of a miracle in my mind. If I feel pain I stop and rest. I listen to my body and allow it to slow down not out of weakness but because it needs it. Because I need it. My will to recover is stronger than ever but so is the connection with my body.

I learned to listen. I learned to celebrate the gift of walking. I learned that some things can hurt my body from within and not accepting temporary limitations is one of them. I learned mindfulness.