here

I grew like a weed when I was a kid.  I see my son do the same thing now.  I watch him untangle his newly long body and I remember that feeling of gawk, stumble, lope.  I remember changing physically faster than I could make peace with. 

And like my son, I was kind of a dreamy kid so that constant bonk and shamble of a rapidly growing physical body was rudely unwelcome distraction from what could be imagined, or pondered or doodled.  Damn big feet trippin me up.  In a way, though, it balanced my daydreams to have to maneuver my awkwardness through space.  It pulled me back to earth every time I got too far out in the ether.

It's funny, isn't it, this relationship we have to make with the physical manifestation of who we are.  How fully do we inhabit these bodies?

I learned to manage the gawk to some extent.  I used to be a runner.  That constant rhythmic pounding of big feet on pavement kept me shaken down into physicality- compact and settled, a little more peaceful after every outing.  With every step, I landed a little more firmly on the earth.  I am here.  I am here.  I am here.

It was almost a restless need for me, to run, to kick, to play- gawky or not, I needed to be jarred a little.  I wanted something to push against, something to bounce off of. 

Even well into adulthood, I maintained this itch to charge around- well after the soccer years ended, walking fiercely through 3 pregnancies, hiking steep trails with babies in backpacks, almost desperate to make footprints at my pace.  Enough with the babysteps, sweet though they were.

I got sick a few years ago- sick enough to have to stop moving for a while.  And it was funny, the peace that fell in through that convalescence.  Once I was better, I could sit still.  I could step lightly.  I could slow down in the woods long enough to notice beautiful things I would have previously marched so purposefully past. 

It was odd at first.  Unfamiliar.  Then slowly, it became the way I am now.  It just is.

This week we moved furniture around in the office at the museum- file cabinets, shelving units, partition walls.  I am the youngest by a bit, tallest by a lot, strongest, heaviest person on this staff of mostly petite women and I run the exhibits department so I have all the power tools. My collegues made up for their physical tininess in fiesty will, but when it all came down to it, I was the ballast on many a treacherous move- balancing out and holding up thousands of pounds of museum importancies.  I felt like Chewbacca, pulled in for the grunt work.  I didn't mind one bit.  It was nice to throw my weight around again for a change- to overcome some pretty worthy opponents in these willful cabinets and that uppity gravity (sorry, corny pun I couldn't resist there- it's a sickness).  But what was different this time, now, is that I was glad when it was over.  I didn't need to keep pushing. 

Yesterday, we went skiing.  As I glided back and forth over a bowl in an easy trail, I realized how happy I am now to just skim over the surface of the earth like this.  I don't need to pound and pound to land myself anymore. 

I am finally really here- not in danger of floating off anymore and that is a fine feeling.