Just when I think I have it all figured out, pinching myself because I have a stupendous schedule with a perfect balance of physical activity, fulfilling work and time to play, right when everything is balanced like a spinning top, all my ducks are sashaying in a neat little row and I finally found the key, down I go. Yup. In my last post, I wrote about how hard it was to start skiing again after getting out of shape. But I kept skiing and was feeling stronger, skiing longer and easier, loving it, planning to spend 4 or 5 mornings a week out there. I even signed up for a 6 week lesson package. Winter was going to be GREAT! Then, on the first day of lessons, January 7, as I skied gently down my favorite trail, I fell. Hard. Full weight on my shoulder. Now, I’ve never been seriously injured, except for a few cuts and scrapes and a persnickety back. So when the instructor reached me and asked if I could ski down the mountain, I said “Yeah.” And then I realized I couldn’t move my arm. At all. I had dislocated my shoulder.

So, I got the ski patrol sled ride down the mountain, ambulance, morphine, hospital, X-rays, etc. etc. When the doc said I wouldn’t be able to ski again this winter, the tears rolled. “Not what you wanted to hear,” she said.

YA THINK?!?!?!

slinged armI spent the 1st 3 days crying on and off over losing a winter of being able to do the closest thing to flying. Then I got out my computer and took “Ski” and “Yoga” off my calendar. It was a bit of a shock. January was nearly blank. But instead of being upset, I felt a sense of relief. WHAT? As they say up here in the mountains, “That ain’t right!” How could that be when my schedule was carefully designed and perfect? Was I trying to do too much?

My doctor’s instructions were to keep my arm immobile and rest. Right arm, and I’m right-handed. My dear friend Myriam took care of me at her house for a couple of days, helped me walk my dog, then made sure I had food at home and rides to appointments. (She’d yell at me if I attempted anything. I wasn’t allowed to dislocate again “on her watch.”) Once I moved back home I didn’t have to do one single solitary thing. Hasn’t my coach been telling me this since I retired from teaching in 2009? I have enough money to pay the bills. Sometimes it takes a 2×4 across the shoulder for me to get it. I didn’t have to earn more money.

But after one week of reading, sleeping, walking, Netflixing, I started to feel uncomfortable, like I better get something more constructive done. Like actually implement the new ideas I had for my website. I could at least type, for pity’s sake. Did I feel guilty not working on something? Kinda. It took 2 more weeks for me to tease through the feelings and realize the discomfort came from not feeling fulfilled. I’d stalled, even before my fall, even before the Christmas madness. It’s not that I wasn’t doing too much. I had buried my passion.

DSC01781The silver lining of my fall is the reminder that I love coaching. I can affect the quality of people’s lives. I can make the world a happier place one person at a time. A child of the 60’s, I want peace and love for everyone. I’m dusting off the workshops I’ve shelved and looking for venues to present them. I’m revamping my website to include a slew of coaching options, with new pictures flaunting my gray hair. (That’s a post in itself.) I am going to do what I love and trust the money will follow. Because when I do coach or facilitate a retreat or run a workshop,  I can feel it in my bones that this is right for me. My heart expands.

I guess being forced to sit still was what I needed. Maybe I can’t fly down a mountain until next winter but I’m shooshing inside with joy.

Let the healing begin.


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