As the year draws to a close, and with my recent, permanent shift to being housebound due to LVSD 20% and NYHA Stage IV heart failure, I’ve had more time than ever to reflect. And when I say "reflect," I mean being forced into an extended period of stillness—a state fundamentally opposed to the traveler’s nature.
For years, I believed that meaning was found in motion: the miles covered, the cultures encountered, the sheer act of movement. I measured life in footsteps and time zones.
Now, my life is measured in the gentle tick of the clock and the smooth rhythm of my breathing, aided by my care team and medications. This is the Gift of Stillness.
Stillness is Not Emptiness
When you have Stage IV heart failure, every movement is costly. This forces a radical re-evaluation of how you spend your energy—and your time.
In the early days of my diagnosis, stillness felt like emptiness. It felt like failure. It was the absence of life.
Now, I understand that stillness is actually fullness. It's the space where true observation happens, where unnecessary noise fades, and where your priorities become impossibly clear.
The Traveler’s Lesson: When you travel fast, you see landmarks. When you travel slow, you see life. Being housebound is the slowest travel possible. I'm seeing the landmarks of my own heart, my own home, and the deepest kindness of my community.
The EF 20% Focus: My extremely limited heart function budget means I must only spend energy on what truly matters. Fighting fatigue (like the "military mission" of the coffee cup) is one priority. The other is choosing meaningful connection over meaningless activity.
The New 'Destination'
What is the point of all this enforced rest? What is the new destination?
The destination is simply presentness.
I used to chase the next city, convinced it held the secret to happiness. Now, happiness is found in the reliability of my daily care, the taste of a low-sodium meal, or the simple fact that I woke up stable. These are miracles of chemistry and care that I once took for granted.
Pacing the Soul: I’ve learned to pace my soul just as carefully as I pace my body. If my mind starts racing toward things I can no longer do, I gently bring it back to the present moment: the sound of the rain, the comfort of the blankets, the feeling of the chair beneath me. This mental discipline is my most powerful medicine.
To all the other travelers out there, grounded by illness or circumstance, remember this: the heart that guides you does not have to stop exploring just because your feet have. The greatest journey is always inward, and sometimes, the best view is found when you are finally, truly still.
What is one positive realization or "gift" you have received from a period of forced rest or stillness in your own life?
Comments
Post a Comment